Snatched
by Simply-Nicole
Summary: Ash never meant for this to happen. He was just trying to do what he had to do to survive. But when his mistake endangers the life of Misty Waterflower he decides to do whatever it takes to save her. He kidnaps her. [AU Story: Pokeshipping]
1. The Dregs of Society

Author's Note: This story is rated M for language, violence, suggestive themes and heavy discussion of drugs and alcohol. If you are young then please hit the back button.

This story is an AU set in the real world, meaning that the focus of this story is on the character's from Pokémon themselves. There are no Pokémon. It's an idea that I've been thinking about for awhile now. I wanted to do a story that challenged my understanding of certain topics. This should be very different from your typical Pokémon fanfic. I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon, the characters or Nintendo. I'm pretty bummed about it.

* * *

**Snatched**

**Chapter 1**

The Dregs of Society

_Ash's Point of View_

I wake to the sound of my name being screeched like it's a curse. It floats up from downstairs, forcing me back into this hellish reality and into another day. I spring up wasting no time as I leave my warm bed and amble down the stairs. I try to work out some tangles from my bed head as I reach the landing and face the man responsible for my rude awakening. Glancing at the clock briefly I note that it's one in the afternoon.

His blaring words are bitter and venomous. I know him well enough to know that it's better to face his moods than to hide.

In my world there is no hope of hiding, there never will be.

His eyes are glassy and hollow as I approach him. It's not a rare occurrence. The only thing my father has ever truly loved and pursued were his drugs. They were always in him, around him and I would argue they define him. There is no Charles without his high.

It's always been that way. It always would be.

I can remember the days when I was young and naïve and dreamt of a dad who wanted to play baseball and take me fishing. I was brimming with endless hopes and wishes. Every night I pictured the man who caused me the greatest pain becoming my biggest hero. We would leave town, start over and find a woman who would love to be my mom. We would be a family. I craved it with every fiber of my being. Those dreams seemed so faint and tarnished now. At nineteen I've accepted what life handed to me. It does me no good to dwell on those foolish desires. I gave up hoping for rescuing, escape and a family long ago. You learn to cope, to bury the disappointment and hurt deep inside until you can pretend it doesn't exist. You keep going.

This is life. It has always been this way. It will always be this way.

I look at the snarling face of my father, a face that is so reminiscent of my own that it hurts. I can't even escape this man in the mirror. We would almost look identical if it wasn't for the damage he had done to himself. Heavy drug use has taken its toll on his features. His teeth are rotting and yellowed. Not that anyone would know, he never smiles or laughs. At least not with me. Lesions cover his skin overpowering the bruises and scars. He's tanned like me, tall and strong. He loves to prove just how strong every chance he gets. As a child I learned the power of this man's fists in many brutal ways. While puberty is a curse to most guys it was a blessing to me. I don't get hit anymore. His eyes are stony and grey, lifeless and dull. He's unpredictable and dangerous, but drugs will do that to you. At least the kind he's on. They are the drugs that kill a man, that enslave him and shatter the very things that make up who he is. My father is not unique or special. I've seen this same song and dance play out in many people's lives.

Charles sells whenever he can. Memories flash through my mind before I can stop them as I stare at the angry red scarring that covers his face and arms. Manufacturing meth was a dangerous game to play, but my father is not a man to back down from anything. Every risk was worth it if it kept him next to his only real love. After the accident he turned to distributing crack. And when I was old enough he turned to me to sell it.

"What?" I grunt at him, interrupting another speech about what a bastard I am and wanting him to get to the point.

"Cash," is the terse response, and it's all he needs to say. He needs his next fix and we are out of money. I sigh, rubbing my face in my hands and suppressing a groan. I hate it. I hate everything about it. I hate living in the seedy underbelly of society. I am the dregs of the world, the type of man mom's warn their children about. I simply nod and turn back towards the stairs to get ready for the day.

* * *

I walk up and down the streets with a predatory stare and purpose. I had never scouted this neighborhood before and was a little nervous being on new territory. The police had increased their patrols in my old hunting grounds making the risk not worth it.

I am a thief.

I'd do anything to keep from going into those crack houses. There's nothing I detest more than dealing. I hate handing over substances that weaken a man and destroy his family. I don't want to be a part of the game. I can't escape it. But I've found a way to avoid it as much as possible. I've become very adept at stealing, the only thing my father is ever really proud of me for.

I scan the streets looking for a potential place. I'm looking for anything that guarantees that there is something worth steeling inside. These houses are huge, mansions even, but I know that means nothing. A mansion can be bare or full of cheap junk. I've also seen trailers loaded with valuables. I wouldn't be a very good burglar if I allowed presumptions to cost me a good find.

There's lots of ways to tell whether a place is worth the risk and time. When I was younger I would knock on doors, pretending to sell lawn care services. While we talked I would glance inside scoping for goods. Some people would even invite me into their homes for something to eat or drink. They made it too easy. I used to feel guilty about it. I don't enjoy taking people's stuff. I hate the fear and terror I cause. But in my mind stuff can be replaced. A person's soul and possibly life can't be. I feel like a soul snatcher with every deal I make. No, this is the kinder thing to do.

I stop abruptly, a large box next to a dumpster catching my eye. Casually I cross the street to get a closer look. The contents are gone but what was inside is quite clear, a 70 inch LCD television. This is definitely worth the risk. I glance side to side making sure there's no one around and approach the house. It's massive and expensive looking, something I could never even imagine living inside. What do people do with all that space? I ring the doorbell and start fidgeting. I want to see if anyone is home. I notice there's no car in the driveway and all the lights are out. Discreetly I wiggle the doorknob. Locked.

I make my way to the back and look for another entrance. My heart starts beating madly in my chest and adrenaline kicks in. I know I shouldn't feel anything but horrible feelings right now, but the rush is almost addicting. Almost. I reach for the back door and slide it gently. I'm shocked as it quietly slides open. I'm in. I slink inside with all the stealth I can muster freezing as the scene unfurls in front of me. I've never been around so many expensive things in my life. This can't be real, there's no way anyone can afford to live like this. It all looked new, shiny and like it would be tainted by the very touch of my hands. The kitchen was to my right, glowing from the setting sun and beautiful with its rich wood cabinets. I run my fingertips across the surface of the granite countertop. I had never felt granite before, it was so smooth.

I force myself to focus. It's stupid to get caught up in this. I'm not at an amusement park. I'm a trespasser; I'm committing a crime and am in a very dangerous situation right now. I creep around, looking for any sign of someone being home. There's a calendar in the kitchen. Perfect! Hopefully it has some kind of schedule on it. I look over it and feel giddiness zigzag through me. This is too good to be true. I don't have luck like this, there's no way the cards are falling in my favor. On the calendar in neat, pink writing are the dates of the resident's vacation followed by little hearts. They won't be home for three days.

Charles will be ecstatic! I couldn't wait to get home and tell him. They had time; they could thoroughly ransack the place and vanish before the owners had a clue. I turned to leave, stopping and glancing around once more. That guilty feeling began to crawl up again, lodging in my throat and frustrating me. I tried to snuff it out, telling myself anyone stupid enough to leave their doors unlocked while on vacation deserved to be robbed. I focused on getting home and telling Charles. After this find there's no way I'm spending tonight dealing!

* * *

The old Chevy sputters and fumes as I turn onto our gravel driveway. The overgrowth is so out of control that you'd never know a house sits a half mile off from the country road. I don't even hide my annoyed huff when I spot a familiar looking car parked on the weed infested lawn. Looks like Twiddledee and Twiddledum are here. I slam the truck door hard giving everyone inside the house a fair warning before I walk in. They don't like me showing up unexpectedly.

My dad is pacing relentlessly inside as I open the door. I see the bags of crack he cooked up today sitting on the table, waiting. I refuse to cook the stuff. I've been forced to do a lot of things over my life, but I refuse to make the drugs. Several severe beatings later my father had finally accepted that and stopped badgering me about it.

"Well if it isn't Princess Ash coming back from brooding about standing alone in his principles," a slimy sounding voice from the kitchen called out. A shrill face framed by small watery eyes came into view as Nathan sneered at me. He was scrawny, often giving up his food money in order to get his fixes. He tied his patchy, balding hair into a ponytail at the base of his neck.

I couldn't stand anything about Nathan. He was barely thirty and had as much depth as a puddle. He oozed arrogance and self righteousness. Unlike me he took great pride in his lifestyle. He felt powerful when he handled the cash and drugs, knowing just how great a stronghold the substance had over our clients. Often he would haggle out a price only to change his mind at the last second, demanding more and bending people to his will. That kind of foolish behavior was going to get him killed. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already.

"Ah leave the moron alone, he's barely walked through the door," was the nasally response of his companion. I have no clue what his real name is, everyone just calls him Pudge, and it's a very accurate description. Even after 7 years of knowing him I still smile at the name. What kind of a street name was that? He was obtuse and blunt, never caring about anything. It was a blessing and a curse. The man was sprawled out on our crumbling couch, hairy stomach hanging out of his shirt and mouth relentlessly devouring the food that I worked hard to earn. I bite down my annoyed words and glower at all of them. I wouldn't call any of them friends, heck I know they wouldn't call each other friends, but rather it was a relationship built on a mutual need. We all needed money, they needed their fixes, and we couldn't do it alone.

"You better have one hell of a reason for being so late," Charles grunted, fingers twitching as he anticipated my answer. He was a loaded weapon, always ready to spring into action. I enjoy the smirk that spreads across my face, anticipation coursing through my veins.

"I do. I've got a hit. You guys aren't going to believe this place… "

* * *

_Misty's Point of View_

I couldn't wait to get out of this car and stretch my legs. I loved my Lincoln, a present from when I had graduated high school, but after driving for 14 hours it was beginning to feel more like a cage then a luxury car. It had been a year since I had been home. A year since I had been with my parents or my sisters. I was eager to see them and hopeful that they were no longer angry. My decision to go to college had not been approved of by anyone… I turned up the radio to drown out the thoughts and focus on everything I wanted to do over summer break.

It was mid afternoon as I finally pulled into our driveway, pushing a button to open the garage door and pulling inside. Normally my car ended up parked on the road because the garage would be occupied. I had decided to come home early, ensuring that I got a few days to spend alone and relax before my family got back. The runway waited for no one, including little sisters.

I leapt out of the car and stretched. It feels way too good! I could really use a massage. The thought leaves my mind as quickly as it appears. There's no way I'm paying some stranger to touch me. And there's no one in my life right now I'd be willing to ask. I valued my personal space. And privacy. It's amazing what basic rights you are denied when you're family is well known.

I decide to get my bags later, bringing nothing but my cell phone and biology textbook into the house. I can't afford to let my brain go to mush over the break. My obsession is the ocean, and my goal is to be a marine biologist. This dream of mine is all consuming, I can't get it out of my head and I refuse to let anything get in the way of it. Even if it means I've become the family disappointment.

My parents own the _Tri_ fashion line, traveling all around the world and inspiring fashionistas young and old. I've heard many rants and plans for contending with competitors like Coco Chanel. As my sisters got older they began modeling the newest lines, rapidly rising in popularity and becoming more and more entrenched in the family company. Then there's me, the redheaded tomboy who would rather be running around in comfy shorts and breathable shirts then the name brands that are way too pricey. Not that that was an option. I was a walking representation of my family's business. My clothes were carefully chosen, my nails done and my hair styled. I drew the line on length. If I was going to be forced to mess with it then I would prefer to mess with less. So I kept it short.

I don't understand the appeal of this world that they loved. My parents begged me to consider changing my degree to a double major of business and marketing. Their hopes were that I would take over the company eventually. It's the worst fate I could imagine.

Scratch that, forced to go into full time modeling would be the worst, but owning the business was a close second. The thought of taking the path my sisters chose caused a shiver to run though me. I hated the diets, extreme exercise regimes, the pomp and emphasis on appearance and the way the world felt they had a right to criticize after you worked so hard to look perfect for them. That's not to say I haven't modeled. Over this last year I've done more shoots then in all my teenage years. My parents refused to pay for college after I told them what I intended to do. School wasn't cheap and I wasn't willing to let something like money stand in my way. So I model and pose and tell myself it's getting me through school. My parents pled with me many times over the years to model for their company. My sisters were stunning with their flawless complexions and soft curves. My look was very different. I was taller than my sisters, long and lean and the exact kind of different my mother insisted they needed.

Sometimes it's hard being the black sheep. I feel like they live in this other world, one that I desperately try to understand but can't fathom even though it's always been around me. It's a life that I've tried a couple of times to give an honest go at. It makes me unhappy. When I'm on the field, researching and seeing wildlife and tasting that ocean breeze I feel alive. Exhilarated. I die when I'm forced in front of the lens of a camera.

There's another side to the coin, a consequence that comes when you put your face in front of the camera. You are noticed. People you never intend to meet know who you are. They talk like they know you, invade every personal part of your life as though they have the right to it, and turn you into a product. I don't want to be legendary or known. I'd give anything to walk in a crowd and have not one person know my name, to read a magazine and not catch an article about something I supposedly did or said. I don't want tons of money and fame. I want to be happy, I want to be free and to be able to make a positive difference in this world.

It's isolating. I can be in a room full of people, all of them there because of me and all of them knowing my name. And yet I'm alone, a constant barrier existing between me and them because of this thing called money. You can't trust anyone. Everyone expects something of you. Relationships become a carefully planned map and system of who will be beneficial to your image, who was least likely to hurt you and who would get you further. I just want a friend, a real, raw connection where I can be free to be me, not a guarded woman always looking to be sold out.

Sometimes I hate this life I was born into. I hate everything about it. I hate living in the supposed upper crust of society, being placed on a pedestal so high that you were unreachable and alone. I was the type of woman children dreamed of being, a role model for no good reason.

Faint traces of vanilla scents permeate the house and I breathe it in deeply. _Home._ I'm happy to be back. This community was small, discreet, the perfect place to hide from the public eye. I just wanted to spend a few days alone, eat as much pizza as I want and binge out on television. I make my way to my room, eyes fuzzy from hours of driving and one goal on my mind. _Sweet, heavenly sleep._

I stop as a bouquet of flowers catches my eye. Snatching up the card I read it and sigh in exasperation. Looks like my mom has a new pet to play with. He won't last. She'll get bored and will find a new guy to replace this one. My parents have never allowed me to delude myself about love and romance. You can't hope for things like that in this world. Marriage is another carefully crafted decision. You find someone who will benefit you the most and cause the least amount of damage when it ends. Things like lifelong adoration and passionate feelings don't truly exist.

My parents made a great partnership. They worked perfectly together, had strengths where the other had weakness and were equally dedicated to their goals and home. But they weren't in love. Neither was exactly faithful. Neither was bothered by that. It disgusted me. If that's what it meant to be married then I wanted nothing to do with it. I grab the vase and slip out the back door. I throw the flowers in the trash, wanting them out of the house and out of mind, then turn to make my way back inside and towards my bedroom, eager to fall into my fluffy blankets and to forget it all.

* * *

I'm jarred from my dreams by a loud crash. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes and yawning, assuming I had been hearing things. I freeze as a voice floats from down the hall. I get out of bed gradually, making a deliberate effort to make no noise as I slink to my door and press my ear against the wood. There is a man in my house. I stop breathing. I don't recognize the voice. What is he doing here? The most logical guess is that he is a thief. I stealth back to my bed looking for anything I can use as a weapon. I glance down at my bulky biology book. I spent a whole year cursing its massive weight. In this moment I had never been more in love with its large girth. I pick it up and grab my cell phone punching in 9-1-1. I pause as the shadow from a pair of feet comes through from under my door. Someone is there. They are at my door. What am I going to do?

The fact that I am afraid makes me angry. What gives him the right to come into _my_ house, take _my_ stuff and terrorize me? Hell no. I stuff my phone in the pocket of my sweats. I grab the book and rush the door, swinging it open and beating my intruder senseless while shrieking the most vicious cry I could muster. I bring it down on him again and again, ignoring his demands for me to stop as he trips and falls under me. I have him now. I whack him hard in the head and take off down the hall, thinking that if I can just get outside then I would be safe.

I scream in surprise as my arm is wretched back pulling me against a bony body. I begin to fight, remembering everything I had ever learned in self defense classes. The man is weak, easily overtaken and begging me to stop pounding my fist into his face. I had no idea there were two of them. I was not willing to risk him chasing me. I needed to knock him out.

The thunderous noise caused me to pause, reaching me before the bullet that whizzed by my head had lodging itself into the wall in front of me. I'm lifted off the rat like man, a thick arm wrapping around my neck and choking me. I'm barely able to reach the ground with my toes as I'm pulled up to my captor's full height, the barrel of his gun chilly against my temple and causing a cold sweat to come over me.

"Make one more sound cupcake, I'd love to blow your brains out," his rank breath spoke into my ear causing a wave of nausea to wash over me. His arm kept tightening around my neck. There was no way I was going to let them manhandle me. If they wanted to hurt me then they would have to fight to do it. I dig my fingernails into his skin as hard as I could feeling blood pool around them, then sank my teeth into his forearm as he lifted the limb. His skin is greasy and disgusting, leaving a foul taste in my mouth. He smashes his fist into my head before I can run. I crash to the ground, my vision suddenly blurring. 'Away, you need to get away!' I sit up, freezing as I stare down the barrel of his gun. His eyes are cold, stone cold.

"Wait!" A voice calls from the hallway, a man stumbling into the room. It's the attacker I beat with my book. He is young. His nose is bleeding and dripping down his chin. I felt a small surge of pride. He was clearly strong and well muscled. And I had overpowered him.

"Damn it Ash! You said there was no one here!" The man with the gun was screeching, panicked and fuming. So it was this Ash's fault that they were here. Clearly they weren't after me. I was right, they were robbing my house.

"Don't hurt her," the Ash guy replied, never taking his eyes off the man. Despite the scars on the one with the gun it was obvious the two were related somehow. I glare them both down, refusing to be intimidated and angry that they're here. Anger was my default emotion when I felt anything that made me uncomfortable. Embarrassment, self consciousness, fear… No anger was far more comfortable to manage.

I would not cower in front of them.

"We have to kill her. She's seen all of us, I can't go to jail! I'm on my last swing. If they catch me this time I'm probably not getting out. Charles shoot her, shoot her right now!" The toothpick with a mouth was pleading from the corner, his voice rising and squealing as the terror started to set in. He was pathetic.

"You're making a mistake if you do," Ash responded, eyebrows lowered and challenging the one named Charles. They were silent, having a conversation with their eyes. They didn't seem to trust each other.

"Give me one damn reason why I shouldn't," Charles finally spoke.

"You really don't know who this is do you?" Ash asked, laughing slightly and shaking his head. I felt that familiar rage come over me, the one that always formed when people I didn't know knew who I was and made it obvious they wanted something from me. How dare that –

"She's a Waterflower, Misty to be exact," I looked at Ash's appearance. His clothes were old and worn, he had holes in his jeans and resting on top of his unruly black hair was a battered baseball cap. I highly doubted he was into fashion. Why in the world did he know my name?

"That supposed to mean something to me?" Charles snarled and rested the barrel of the gun against my forehead. For the first time I really felt that I could die right here. Would they leave me here for my family to find? The thought of them coming home and finding me like this caused tears to spring in my eyes.

"Her family owns _Tri_. It means they're loaded," Ash finally said, frustrated.

"We can see that from all the stuff, shoot her!" The third man was screaming at this point. I start breathing hard as fear finally grips me. I stare at Ash, the only one who seems interested in keeping me alive, begging him to notice me, save me, do something! His eyes are kind. Warm. So different from the man standing in front of me.

"It means that she herself is worth something alive!" Ash bellows back, irate at this point while his hands balled into a fist.

"I'm listening," the harsh man lowers his gun, giving the young one his full attention. I'm able to turn my face fully toward Ash, both hopeful that he will let me go and terrified at what he might be planning.

"It means we take her with us. Look around you, do you see how much money they've poured into their house. How much more do you think they'd be willing to give up for a daughter?"

Dread crashes over me like a boulder at his words. No, no he can't possibly be meaning what he is saying. I glance over at the other two men, wicked smiles growing on their faces. I begin to shake. I've got to run.

I dash wildly for the back door, barreling past Ash and desperate to escape. He grabs me, pinning my arms to my sides and pulling me against his chest, squeezing tight. I wiggle and kick, trying everything I can to get out of his grasp. He lifts me up, bringing my legs off the ground and swinging around, facing Charles.

"Relax, lower the gun. I've got her," he commands, tightening his grip further. I want to punch him in the face. I want to break that bleeding nose. I thought he was going to save me! I feel so dizzy from the impact to my head. I cry as I slump against him, allowing myself this one moment of weakness.

"Nathan go find me something to tie her up with," his voice says quieter. He starts rocking me back and forth. It makes me dizzier. Nathan slithers down the hall, returning with a handful of my father's ties. It makes me heartsick that I am being tied up like this with my father's own creations. They bind my hands behind me. Ash slowly sets me down and lets me go. He tries to catch my eyes with his own but I pointedly ignore him, turning my head away. He sighs, taking a tie and tying it around my head, blocking out my vision. A whole new level of horror floods through my veins. I can't see! Oh gosh I can't see. How am I going to get away?

"Ash, take the Lincoln and the girl and get out of here. Make sure you use the back roads. We're going to grab a few more things to stuff in the truck," that was definitely Charles. Where were they taking me? What did they plan to do? My family wouldn't be home for a couple of days. They had no way of knowing that I was snatched up. They wouldn't be able to get here in time to pay a ransom tonight. They could not save me.

Ash picked me up, surprising me as I yelled at him to get his hands off me. "Shhhhh, you need to relax," he whispers in my ear, carrying me off to the garage and towards my car. How the heck could he expect me to relax?! How dare he expect me to be alright with this! I fume, internally throwing every nasty expression I can imagine towards the man cradling me in his arms. It feels ironic that not even 12 hours ago I had thought of my car as a cage. I had no idea how right I was. Ash sets me down and opens the door, trying to guide me inside.

"I don't need your help! I'm perfectly capable of getting in on my own!" I scream at him, livid and scared and wanting him as far away from me as possible.

"Yes ma'am," he responds, shutting the door behind me and walking around. I can feel I'm in the backseat. I hear him get in, turning down my radio and pushing the button to open the garage door to leave. I lie down across the seat and turn my body towards it, burying my face in its cushions to cover my sobs as I let them overtake me. Ash drives on silently marching me to my end.


	2. Blood Drawn

Author's Note: Thank you so much Jigglypuff and EliXiR2722 for taking the time to read and review! It's encouraging and gets me so excited to hurry and get the next chapter out to you. I won't normally be able to update this quickly, but I've got a three day weekend and am really in a writing mood. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon or the characters represented from the franchise in this story.

* * *

**Snatched**

Chapter 2

Blood Drawn

_Ash's Point of View_

Misty had finally stopped crying and was lying completely silent in the back seat. I was grateful for the reprieve. Her defeated sobs had torn at my heart, each one of them making me feel like the vilest of creatures. I had taken my gloves off, pressing them to my nose in an effort to absorb the blood and stop the bleeding. I run everything from the night over in my mind, trying to make sense of this new turn of events. This was a disaster, it couldn't have gone worse.

She was beautiful. It was an understatement. I never really cared about celebrities or the life of the rich. I had much greater things to pour my energy into, like making sure the electricity wasn't shut off. But I knew Misty Waterflower. A year ago I had glanced at the colorful pictures littering the covers of magazines while waiting in line to purchase my food. I was immediately drawn to her picture. It was stupid and it made me feel like an idiot. I bought the magazine. And I never forgot her face.

I never had any intention of crossing paths with her. Why was someone like her even living in a town like this? We were water and oil, our worlds as far apart as you could possibly get. Our paths _shouldn't_ have crossed. Everything about this was wrong. It didn't matter that she was captivating to me, right now she was a huge problem. I had no idea what to do. I am not smart, I'm horrible at coming up with plans and even when I do I seem to be gifted at making a royal mess out of them.

Calm down Ash, stop freaking out. You need to think. You need a plan.

"You could let me go. I will take you anywhere you want and drop you off. I promise I won't tell anyone, I will drive all night and make it look like I hadn't come home until tomorrow morning. I will never tell the police that you snatched me up and I will pretend that I have no idea who broke into the house. _Please_ Ash." It was the first time she had spoken to me since getting into the car. I wanted to trust her. I couldn't.

I could stop the car and let her out. Uggh that won't work either! She would flee to the first person she saw blurting everything. I could be arrested in less than ten minutes. I began to sweat as I pictured what would occur if that happened. The cops would make their way to my house and everything would unravel. Every single one of us would wind up in jail. My sentence would be long, severe.

I started speeding up, taking corners too fast and panicking. Misty said something but I didn't catch it. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears; I was reacting with pure instinct at this point. My fight or flight mode was kicking in telling me I needed to run as far and fast as possible. Growing up with Charles you got pretty good at running. Running and hiding. My stomach twists as I realize that I was never successful at running and hiding from Charles. Damn it!

I sped down neighborhoods and back roads pressing forward on the accelerator and easily hitting seventy with no strain. My Chevy would be a rattling death trap at this speed. With my luck the police would be around the corner, laying a perfect trap to pounce on speeding idiots like me. I remind myself once more to calm down, to think my actions through and come up with a plan.

I didn't see how I could afford to not speed away. I needed to put as much ground between me and the Waterflower's house as quickly as possible to get away from any potential witnesses who might be on the phone with the cops. I blaze through the four way stop assaulted by the blaring horns from the other cars. A quick right, another few miles down the road, then finally I will be to the corner that will take me down the country road to my home. I take the corner on two wheels, desperate to get off paved roads.

I bury my hand in my hair under my hat, frustration overwhelming my senses. How could I be so stupid? How did I miss that someone was in the house? Why is it that I never seem to do anything right? I had been shocked when the redhead came barreling from her bedroom, coming straight at me and beating me with a book. A book! I couldn't help but let the incident sting my ego a bit.

Terror. It was the only thing I could think and feel when I saw my father's gun pressed to her temple. I was terrified. I saw a woman on deaths door step and it was entirely my fault. I had no plans for the abduction, I still had no plan. It was a desperate reaction to save a girl's life. Charles didn't have words like mercy or compassion in his vocabulary. If he was going to let Misty live than he would have to have good reason to do so. I had given him one.

I should have never been in that house. I wasn't able to see past the unlocked door and expensive valuables. It was that simple, and that senseless. I was so excited to get back to Charles, to make him proud and to avoid the plans he had had for me that night. I was excited to get home with our stolen goods tonight, to revel in everyone's happiness because for once they would have been happy with me, because of me. At least that's how I had felt. I was anything but eager to get back to our run down place now that the goods included a girl. I continued speeding down the gravel road going as fast as I could without losing control. We pass a big white sign advertising the wooded hills for sale to any interested developers. We move further and further from town, out into the middle of nowhere. I began to calm, easing my foot off the accelerator to slow down, willing my thoughts to do the same.

As soon as I did Misty lunged at me, fingers spread and curled like claws, screaming like a banshee and aiming for any part of me she could reach. Her eyes were wide and furious. How did she get out of her restraints? I throw the car into park in the middle of the road trying to deflect her blows. I raised my shoulder and turn my head as she aims for my face and knocks my hat off. I glance around making sure there was no one on the road to hear her screeching. I turn off the lights, grateful for the cover of darkness. Her nails scraped down my arms, breaking the skin and drawing blood.

I needed to stop this. I force myself between the two seats and invade her space in the back. I intend to calm her down, to get that crazed look out of her eyes and to make her be quiet. Instead I end up wrestling with her, grappling for control and struggling. She was surprisingly strong. She would be easy to subdue. I don't want to hurt her though. Finally I manage to straddle her pinning her arms above her head. My first thought was how overwhelmingly larger I was compared to her. I had never had a woman under me before. She was a tempting sight, sweats pulled low and shirt riding up from our fight, her ocean eyes furious and focused completely on me. Her chest was rising and falling in rapid breaths snatching my attention. The look of fear suddenly passing over her face instantly killed any provocative pictures she had painted in my thoughts. I didn't want her to be afraid. The sound of her ragged breaths filled the car. I take in a shaky lungful of air, happy that she had stopped screaming. The car hums, reminding me that I had never managed to get it shut off. I straighten up never taking my eyes off hers as I reach over the seat and turn the key off.

The silence is palpable.

"I'm sorry," I say it quietly, wanting her to relax. "We need to talk about this. But first I need you to promise that you'll stop trying to hurt me."

She turned her head, eyes not meeting mine. "Alright," she agreed. I assume she is lying. Hell I would too if I was in her position. I lean closer putting more weight on her wrists, ensuring she wasn't able to break free. She smells intoxicating.

I exhale, gathering my thoughts and trying to be careful with what I say. "Look, it is a complete accident that you are here. All I wanted was your stuff. I had no clue you were in the house. I would have never shown up if I had known you were there."

"Then let me go," Her voice is low and hopeful. She took a deep breath, her chest barely brushing my own, and turned to look straight into my eyes. Her eyes are stunning. I'm once again distracted by her, struggling to stay focused. "If you let me go I promise I won't say a word to anyone."

I may be a dumbass but I'm not that stupid. "Do you really think I believe that? You would have a description of my face out on every news channel and handed over to every cop before the sun rises. The whole town would be looking for me."

"I swear I won't," she says it confidently, tone brimming with sincerity and making me so badly want to believe her.

I imagine what would happen if I gave in to her pleas and let her go. I could unlock the door, let her up and hand over her purse releasing her to walk down the gravel road and into the night. Would she get run over, unseen in the blackness? What if someone picked her up, took her to town and called the police? They would waste no time coming to find me. What if someone came by only a few minutes after I let her go? I was about 50 miles from home. Only 50 miles from where I would hide an expensive Lincoln that doesn't at all fit in with our shabby lifestyle. It wouldn't be difficult for anyone to track me down. The nightmare only goes from bad to worse after that. All of us locked up, years wasted and empty with the hope that time would speed up and that I would survive prison. And if I do then what? I dropped out of school at 14, unable to keep up with the demands at home and school. I had no education, no skills, I didn't know how to do anything but commit crimes.

No. It was better to keep her awhile, come up with a plan. That's when I remembered my father. What would he do if I let her go? I could say she escaped. No matter what I knew his response would lead to nothing good for me. And what about Misty? My father would waste no time finding her. She would be in danger. The fallout that would engulf each and every one of us was too great. I couldn't let her go.

I heard a car in the distance, pulling me from my thoughts and confirming my decision to keep Misty captive. The car was approaching us.

"I can't do that Misty," I answer her. Suddenly she was struggling, fighting me again and opening her mouth to scream. She must have heard the car. What could I do? I was frantic, the car was getting closer. I throw my full weight on her, hand over her mouth and pinning her completely beneath me. Her voice is muffled under my palm. I close my eyes and hope that anyone passing by ignores us thinking we are a young couple parked on a deserted country road looking for some privacy to fool around.

* * *

_Misty's Point of View_

"Shut Up!" He hissed in my ear, his voice sounding angry and out of control. It was exactly how I felt. I struggled to breathe as I bore his full weight, every part of him pressing against me. We were both frozen, listening as the car passed by, the sound of its broken muffler fading into the distance. I could feel my strength melting away as it got further and further from me.

"Can you just relax?!"He whispered again in my ear, calmer yet annoyed. I wish he would stop doing that. I hate the way it makes me shiver. It's too intimate. He needs to get off of me now! I force myself to nod, exhausted.

"I need you to cut the bullshit. I can't think with you screaming in my ear and clawing my eyes out. I don't need you fighting me. I need you to calm down."

I grunt in agreement. My mom would say something about it not being lady like. I could care less if Ash thinks I'm lady like. He lifts his head from next to mine, looking at my face and smiling broadly. He's handsome, I won't deny it. If he thinks that is going to turn me into some brainless school girl than he's an idiot. He can keep throwing seductive smiles and twinkling brown eyes my way. It will get him nowhere. I've spent my whole life surrounded by beautiful people. I respond with a frown.

"You are going to live, I am going to get you out of this and you are going to be ok," he promised. My face must have betrayed my thoughts, displaying my complete distrust in his words.

"I am! I need you to trust me. I am going to tie you back up and I want you to lay back down on the seat so that no one can see you. When we get to my house we will talk about how to get you back home."

I was so drained, so tired, and my head still ached from the hits it took earlier. As the adrenaline seeped from my body so did any vigor I had to fight the man on top of me. It already felt like a lifetime since I had been in my bed, engulfed in down blankets and smooth sheets. Where had he taken me? All I could see were trees and blackness. That lone car was the only one I had heard since we turned onto the gravel road. It felt like we had been driving down it forever.

He finally lifted himself off me, sitting up and allowing me enough room to do the same. He grabbed my arms, running his fingers down the bare skin and bringing them together behind my back. Nathan had tied them last time. Hopefully Ash was just as bad at it as he had been. That hope was quickly dashed as I heard him muttering about how stupid he was to trust Nathan to tie a sturdy knot. He covered my eyes once more, securing the knot at the back of my head.

"Lay down," he told me, applying pressure to my shoulder and guiding me back to the seat. I lie down and exhale slowly. I couldn't see him. But I could hear him. He was still and breathing slowly. I briefly wonder if he felt has drained as I did.

"My purse is in the front seat. If you let me go I will let you have my debit card and will give you the PIN. It's not much, but I have about ten thousand in the account. I know you can't pull it out all at once, but the card is yours. I won't report that you have it." I speak in hushed tones, trying one last time to bargain with Ash.

"I don't want your money!" His tone seemed strange to me, almost like he was offended that I would think that about him. It made no sense. It's ok to take my family's personal belongings, steal my car and kidnap me but it wasn't alright to take my money? It was absurd.

"Then what do you want?" I ask him, afraid, unsure of what exactly his intentions were. He did nothing but sigh, briefly running his fingers through my hair. This was a strange moment, dangerous yet surreal all at once. I shouldn't feel comfort from my enemy.

"Promise you won't scream anymore? I really don't want to gag you." He says it roughly, abruptly stopping his soothing motions as if he had been burnt by fire.

"I promise." Why are we making agreements and promises? Neither of us can trust each other. We had every reason to lie and not one to tell the truth. His words may have seemed sincere, but I refuse to let myself believe in them. He could be planning to hurt me at any moment, keeping me chained in a dark closet for years and milking every penny from my parents. Maybe he just wanted to kill me, take me to a place that no one knew about to get it over with. His words were nice but I couldn't trust his thoughts. Just like he couldn't trust mine. I think about what I could do to hurt him, incapacitate him and alert somebody, anybody to help me so that he couldn't hurt me back. There was no point in either of us trusting one another.

I heard him climb back into the front seat and turn the car on. He turned he radio back on, keeping it on the station I liked and turning it up to a comfortable volume. If he thought that he was doing me some favor by doing it then he was mistaken. I hardened my resolve. I didn't know what his game was, but I refused to trust Ash Ketchum. This was his fault. The road was quiet. It was a bad sign for me.

I start thinking dark thoughts as I curl up tighter in the back seat. Would they make my parents identify my remains if I'm killed? I desperately didn't want them to have to see such a thing. What if they never found my body? What if I'm tortured? I'm overwhelmed thinking of my family, of the pain they will feel, and cry once again as I remember our last conversation. It was full of angry words, both sides upset that the other just wouldn't listen to reason. Would they be angry with me now?

I will not trust Ash. But I realize that the only thing that might save my life was getting him to trust me.

I made a vow to myself, my stubborn spirit and resolve reignited by thoughts of my family. I just have to get through this. I will make it and escape, I will be ok and I refuse to let this be my end.

I will escape.

* * *

_Ash's Point of View_

I started the car, mental and physical fatigue seeping into every inch of me. I melted into the comfortable seat, every muscle relaxing as I drove down the country road. I really hated this kind of music, but I hoped in some small way it would be comforting to Misty. If it did then it made listening to it worthwhile.

I leapt into the air and nearly swerved off the road as a strong rock ballad came blaring from behind me. I slammed on the brakes, whipping around and looking for the source of the noise. A light was shining through Misty's sweats on her right hip. The source of the sound. It hit me that she had a phone on her.

I threw the car into park and reached for her. I hesitate at first, realizing that I have to reach down her pocket and knowing it will make her uncomfortable. I didn't have a choice though. I do it quickly before either of us can feel weird about it, bringing it up to my face and looking at the screen as it continues its song. The man looked like he walked straight out of an Abercrombie and Fitch ad, his bare chiseled abs and seductive smile staring back at me. Gross. The name attached to the picture said Rudy. This was Misty's caller.

"Who's Rudy?" I ask, thoughts of cops and bodyguards floating around my head.

"My ex boyfriend," she grunted, clearly annoyed by the whole situation. "Let me talk to him. I can tell him I'm on the road, that I'm a couple hours from home. It can fit into an alibi and buy you some time."

"No," I say simply and watched as a frown took up residency on her face. I fumbled with the smart phone for a moment trying to figure out how to turn it off. After dropping it twice I finally manage to get the job done. Could the police track this phone even with it off? I start to panic again. Her ex boyfriend calling meant her phone had pinged at the closest cell tower to this location. They would know she was here. I get out of the car, throwing the phone as far and as hard as I could until it was out of sight. It was only afterwards that I realized my fingerprints were all over the damn thing. Stupid, stupid! I'm as idiotic as Charles constantly tells me. How could I not think of that? I am a thief! Fingerprint awareness should be second nature. Why couldn't I ever think things through? I drop back down into the driver's seat, shutting the door and leaning my forehead against the steering wheel. It will be alright. It will take them forever to find that phone. This was the swampy part of the forest.

I put the car back into drive and start back down the gravel road once again. I finally start relaxing feeling sleep tug at my eyes as the silence beckons me to rest.

"How old are you?" She asks from the back seat, causing me jump again and bringing me back to alertness. My nerves are shot.

"Why? You already know my name, now you want my age? Coming up with a full profile to give the cops?" I question her motives. I can't blame her. She's very smart. I would do the same thing if I was in her shoes.

"No, but if I'm going to be stuck with you I might as well know the basics. I'm twenty." She was huffy, as if I offended her with my claim. It caused me to smile.

"Nineteen."

"Where are we going?"

"I can't say."

"Well how much longer till we get there?"

"Soon," is my vague reply. I feel like a parent dealing with their impatient child on a road trip. It brings a smile to my face. It's the type of memory I never had. I have never been on a vacation. Growing up I never knew the feeling of driving long distances, anticipation making me anxious to get there. I move the rearview mirror to look at her, watching as she starts to bite her lip, thinking. It's distracting.

The road Ash, watch the road.

* * *

We pulled into the driveway, the night still and the sky overcast. I turn off the engine and sit for a moment, staring off into nothing. I was so weary. I look at Misty through the mirror. She must have been just as worn out as I was. She had fallen asleep. I reach back and shake her shoulder, trying to be as gentle as possible while waking her up.

"We're here," I tell her, helping her sit back up.

"I don't need your help," she mutters, half awake and grumpy.

"I know," I respond, failing to hide the amusement in my voice.

I get out of the car, moving around to open her door. I grant her her independence, letting her get out on her own. I put my hand on the small of her back, guiding her around all the clutter in the yard and up the stairs of our porch. They creak under our weight, decades old and groaning for retirement.

"You sure took your sweet time making it back," I tense, instantly recognizing Nathan's slimy voice behind us. They must have parked in the back. I open my mouth to give my smartass response but was cut off Charles.

"Get her in the house and put her some place where she won't cause trouble. Keep her tied up. Then get your ass back down here. You and I need to have a little chat over what we plan to do with cupcake over there." I nodded, knowing there was no arguing. I throw my dad the keys, silent understanding passing between us. He was going to move the Lincoln into the barn.

"I can take care of her if you want. It would be my pleasure," I don't like the look in Nathan's eyes. His intentions are about as subtle as a horn.

"No I got this," I growl, unlocking the door and pushing Misty in quickly before Nathan got really foul. I didn't want her to hear the type of things he would say about her.

I'm so grateful that she is blindfolded as I guide her through the decrepit old place. Her presence made me view the way we kept our house in a whole new light. It was disgusting, food and garbage littered everywhere. A mess. There wasn't a single space I would feel good about letting her touch. She didn't deserve this. I lead her up to my room. It wasn't clean, but at least it was sanitary. It was the safest place for her. I would be able to keep an eye on her. It was the only room with no drugs, no needles or any other harmful substances. The only room where she wouldn't be a problem as Charles worded it.

When was the last time a stranger was in the house? I couldn't remember. I laugh internally. For the first time I had brought a girl home. I frown as I realize the only way that was possible was for me to kidnap her. I was pathetic.

I put my hands on her waist to help her up the stairs. They weren't level. Some parts were rotting.

"Get your hands off of me. I am capable of climbing some stairs." She snarls it, her tone intimidating. I immediately release her. I stay close behind her, waiting to help should she fall. She tripped twice, every time yelling at me to give her some space when I tried to help.

Finally we make it up to the second floor. I return my hand to the small of her back, guiding her to the first door on the left. I suddenly felt extremely nervous. Clothes littered the room. I had cardboard on my window. I put it up after I had been thrown into the pane and shattered the glass. A sheet hung over it to block out light and the draft. My bed was large and old, with tall wooden posts and a mattress that you sunk so low in you got lost. I had five blankets on it. In the winter they were never enough to keep me warm. In the summer they provided extra cushion. It's dismal. I'm ashamed. I want to give her more than this.

I lead her to the bed and put pressure on her shoulders indicating that she needed to sit. I reached into my nightstand pulling out some rope, relieved that I hadn't put it away since I used it to hang up a laundry line in my room. I grab her ankles, telling her to lie back and to bring her feet up onto the bed. I tie her ankles to one post, securing the knot and making sure she can't run. I feel sick with guilt. _This is wrong, so wrong_. She looks so small despite her long limbs, bound and blindfolded on my bed. This isn't the way it should be. I lean over her, removing the blindfold, hoping it will make her more comfortable.

I look in her eyes, hoping they will tell me what she's thinking. I search and search never finding an answer. She is guarded, a carefully placed wall causing her face to be neutral. I sigh, pulling away and walking towards the door.

"I'll be back, you get some rest." I tell her quietly, shutting the door gently and walking down the stairs.

What am I going to do?


	3. Plan of Action

Author's Note: I want to give a special thanks to EliXiR2722, Jigglypuff and Nelly92 for reviewing and giving me feedback. You guys are the best :) I hope people don't mind the rapid updates. It's not something I will be able to normally do. For once my inspiration and my time are lining up and I just can't stop writing!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**Snatched**

Chapter 3

Plan of Action

_Misty's Point of View_

I laid there listening to his footsteps fade away as he went down the stairs. I wanted to make sure he was far away before I moved. Ash had left plenty of slack on the rope, enough that I could move anywhere on the bed and kneel beside it. If I was lucky I could find something sharp under the bed to cut my restraints. I stared at the ceiling while I sunk into the old mattress. It was hard to imagine how he moved around on it. The room smelt musty, the way old houses do. There are cracks in his walls. One corner of the ceiling droops looking as though it could cave in at any moment.

His blankets smell like him. I don't know what makes me angrier, the fact that I know what he smells like or the fact that I like it. I snort, disgusted with myself.

I don't unwind until I hear the front door shutting. He's gone. I slide off the mattress, crouching down and looking around. Once upon a time these floors were nice hardwood. The varnish is gone, leaving them scratchy and painful. There are bloodstains soaked into the old wood, their story unknown but the warning quite clear. I'm in dangerous company.

He doesn't have much. The only furniture in the space is the bed and a small nightstand next to it, a very outdated lamp and simple alarm clock resting on top. The right side of the bed is pushed up against the wall. I'm confused as I soak it all in. He's poor, destitute. Everything is old, very worn and some of it was littered in holes. He's a thief. Shouldn't his room be full of valuable items? I'm beginning to feel like I've barely scratched the surface in understanding this man.

I peer under the bed. There's clear plastic tubs under there. They are broken and held together by duct tape. I press myself flat to the ground and wiggle under the frame, trying to get a closer look at the contents. I'm instantly disappointed. This is where he keeps his clothes, clean and tucked away. I groan, resting my forehead against the floor. A small part of me feels pity for him. He has nothing. It vanishes quickly. How can you pity a man who has nothing when he takes everything?

I move to wiggle my way out from under the bed, standing up and sinking back onto the sand trap like mattress. Debating what to do next I pause, noticing a colorful picture poking out from under the bed frame. I stretch out my legs, resting my feet against the glossy pages and dragging it to me. A magazine! I freeze, a torrent of different emotions slamming into me all at once as I look at the smiling face staring back at me.

It's _me_. The magazine is worn like everything else, permanently opened to this page making it obvious that it had been looked at many times. A plum colored bikini hugged my curves contrasting starkly with my skin. It's embarrassing how little it covers. Water droplets were snaking down my figure as I sat on the beach upright on my knees. The tips of my hair were wet, the appearance of a sunset behind me casting a soft orange glow. _'Seduction Miss Waterflower, I want you to seduce the camera_!' the photographer had stated, making it clear the direction he wanted to go in for the photo.

I trembled. What was _**As**_**h** doing with this! This was a woman's magazine. Did he lie to me? Had he targeted me? Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence that my house had been chosen as their criminal playground tonight. Maybe they weren't there searching for material things at all. Maybe what they really wanted was blood.

* * *

_Ash's Point of View_

I was too hot, sweating and nervous as I made my way to the back of the house and trudged towards the barn. I had just a few minutes to cement a plan in my mind to give to my father. I review the facts of our circumstances.

Misty was taken today, Thursday.

Her family will return on Sunday.

We have three days before they grow suspicious. Three days to perfect what our negotiations would be with them.

Misty is famous. Unfortunately money didn't just put a value on things, it seemed like it put a value on people as well. This meant she was going to have a whole lot more than just a few cops and her family combing the place looking for her.

Her parents love her, I knew they must. She was well taken care of. I knew deep down they would be willing to fork over a pretty penny for her return. The issue was how to do it and keep ourselves safe.

I can see stuff piled high in the bed of the truck as I pass it. For the first time I allow myself to really consider the bounty we had hauled in. My mind whirled as I pictured how much money we were about to make.

Pudge had been sent to the crack house tonight, selling product cooked earlier that day. In a way Pudge, Nathan and I were my father's employees. We were merely runners, the face and contact our clients dealt with. Charles owned the product. He had learned the business long ago, maintaining the loyalty of a dependable clientele base and working in the shadows. We were at his mercy, without Charles there was nothing to sell. Then there was always the lingering threat that comes with aligning yourself with someone like my father. You can't escape. The only way out is death. In a lot of ways I felt more like his prisoner than his flesh and blood.

All money obtained was to be immediately handed over when we returned to the house. There was never sneaking any. My dad was methodical with the cash, counting down to every last penny and weighing it against every gram of sold product. After dealing with the dough he would take the unsold product back and give us our cut of the cash. My rate was dismal. I would have thousands of dollars in my possession by the end of the night and generally walked away with a couple hundred at best.

My father cared nothing for the house. He wouldn't think twice about letting electric payments go and having the water shut off. It's the way I lived when I was young. No heat, no electricity and no water. It made doing homework hard. I would be so tired and unfocused in school after spending the night shivering, unable to get warm. A bucket was our toilet. It was my job to clean it every few days, dumping the contents into the canyon and trudging down to the creek to wash it out. It makes me cringe as I remember how that very same creek I washed that bucket in was my only source of bathing water. It was always cold. I would often let the dirt accumulate on my body and ignore my own funk. I hated getting in that water, naked and alone in the dark.

None of it compared to the days without food though. I didn't think of it as starvation when I was a kid. You could only see a few of my ribs. But the pain would be intense, the cupboards empty. I would go out into the woods, trying to find something to fill the void in me. It started with me eating grass. I checked out books in the library, learning which roots and vegetation that grew in our area were edible. I figured out how to fish with a stick and some line. I love fishing. It's relaxing and what boy wouldn't have fun digging in the dirt for bugs? One of my greatest sources of pride is that I always keep our cupboards stocked full of food now. Good food. I might hate all of them but I refuse to let any of us know the ongoing suffering of hunger.

Home repairs often fell to me as well. I've worked extensively on keeping our house upright. It's caving in on itself, the foundation shifting and the frame rotting. There's only so much I can do with limited supplies and income. I would spend hours in places like Lowes and Home Depot, asking questions and reading books, looking for answers on how to fix a burst pipe or a leaking roof.

In a lot of ways I feel like the provider, the protector to a group of ungrateful asses. It's the only thing that gives me a sense of purpose. I'm here to keep them alive.

Another positive to stealing compared to distributing was that the cash would be equally dispersed amongst us. We would spend the next few days taking turns driving to various counties and selling our goods. This haul was going to take us a few weeks to sell. You can't move too fast. You get caught that way. I preferred the slow method anyways. It meant that for a short period of time income was steady.

A radio blared death metal from the old barn. I walked in surprised to see my father with his arms buried in a red leather purse, eyes focused on the contents as he moves them around. If it wasn't for the fact that I knew he was pawing through Misty's belongings I would find the scene humorous. I purposefully bump a bucket with my foot alerting him that I was here. He looks up grinning like a madman.

"This is one spoiled slut," he gleefully stated, holding up an IPod and her wallet. He must not have been interested in anything else. He digs through her wallet, pulling out the cash and shoving it back in the purse. I know there's a debit card in there, probably credit cards as well. A fool would reach for them, use them. Electronic transactions left a trail in their wake. We couldn't afford to make that mistake. Charles is counting through bills. There's two hundred there, enough to satisfy him.

"Got your princess all settled in?" A gruff, sarcastic question directed towards me while he tosses the purse onto the workbench. I shrug, giving a noncommittal answer. Our conversations tended to be one word sentences and grunts. The less I say about Misty the better.

"Talk," He commands. I know what he wants. The plan. I breathe in deeply, ready to share what I had come up with and hoping it pleased him.

"We need to get numbers from her so that we can contact her family."

"Where's her phone? Ain't no way she doesn't have a phone."

"I threw it into the woods," I rub my face as I say it, nervous that he would explode, "she was getting phone calls on it. I didn't want it tracking her location and tracing her back to us."

"Good point. She better hope for her own safety that she can remember at least one number." He's watching me closely, a queer look on his face. It's almost like he is measuring me, seeing how far I've come and if I had what it takes to be playing in the big leagues. Like this moment, this plan will gauge whether he succeeded in raising me and teaching me everything he knows. We've spent so many years living on the wrong side of the law.

"Then what?"

"We find out from her how much she thinks her family will fork over for her. We need a good starting point. Misty will know better than anyone what that starting point would be."

"She better hope to hell she's worth a lot." I knew he was uncomfortable with the whole situation. We were out of our element. Yet the lure of big bucks was too great a temptation. "She's your responsibility Ash. You keep an eye on her, keep her out of trouble." Charles handed me a pair of handcuffs and a key. I assume it's for Misty. Why does he even have these? He stretched his long frame out, getting comfortable on the stool and bringing his arms to rest behind his head before speaking again, "Guess this means I need to go make a deal for a cell phone that can't be traced."

So far so good, he seems pleased. I brace myself, ready to share the details of what will happen when this all finally goes down. "You'll call her parents, make a deal and pick a date. Tell her dad to be ready to make the drop at some ungodly hour. When he gets there he's to leave his cell phone. We can't risk him tipping the police to our final exchange point. See if you can make a deal on a cell that can't make outgoing calls. Mr. Waterflower will have it waiting for him at the first rendezvous point and will take it. Pudge needs to hide somewhere, making sure Misty's dad does exactly as he was told. You'll give him instructions to one of these logging roads. It'll be dead in the early morning hours. If he wants to know his daughter's location then he will leave the money on the road, turn around and head back to town. We'll have Nathan in the woods to make sure it happens. After he confirms the dough has been dropped you'll call her dad and tell him where we've left her. We drop her off on some remote path and book it to the airport. You've said before you wanted to go to the Bahamas' right? Pick any beach, somewhere warm and far away! Someplace where a US dollar is worth a heck of a lot. We'll never have to work again. We'll live like kings." I'm trembling when I finish. His expression is neutral, giving me no hint as to what he thought of the whole thing. It was unnerving, completely not Charles. He stared at me for awhile before speaking up.

"What about the damn girl?"

"What about her?" I'm confused by his question. I already said we'd let Misty go. Surely he didn't intend on bringing her with us. There's no way we could smuggle her overseas, let alone get her on an airplane.

"What's to keep her from blabbing to the cops?" Ah. He found the wrench in my plan.

"She doesn't know our names; she has no way of telling them who we are." I lie through my teeth. She's smart, attentive to detail and information. I knew she had gathered our names from the confrontation in the house. I've got to protect her though, convince Charles that she is worth keeping alive. At least we have a shot of being unfound once we leave the country. We could change our names, keep moving around, never staying in one place too long. We would become a needle in a haystack.

"Eventually she's gonna give enough information that the police figure out who took her." He's grumbling, contemplating. At least he's not irate. An idea suddenly hits me.

"Not if we play our cards right. Remember I said her family owns _Tri_?" He grunts an answer back. "We connect her kidnapping to the company; make it look like we are targeting them. Between hacked off employees and protestors they're bound to have enemies. The police will follow that trail for years before it runs dry. And by then we will have vanished."

"What makes you think that'll work?" The air is suddenly tense, like we are on the verge of sinking or swimming. The calm before a storm. My answer is the deciding factor and I know it, the very thing that will either bind us to this plan or cause an explosion from the man in front of me. Misty's life is on the line. The weight of it is suffocating.

"Which is more likely to happen? A lot of people want a piece of _Tri_. An enemy is much more likely to be suspect than some random stranger snatching up a famous figure. The police are going to exhaust the most probable scenario before they consider the exception to the norm."

Charles sat there, thinking for a long while. Death metal bounced off the walls, seemingly getting louder and louder as I watched him closely. I couldn't afford to make a mistake right now. I wondered what I would do if he rejected the plan, insisted on killing Misty and disposing of her. Could I take him? I had never tried. Even if I did then what after that? He would be relentless, searching for both of us until he had us back in his clutches. I look at him in a whole new light. If push came to shove would I be willing to kill my own dad to protect a complete stranger? I stuff my hands in my pockets, shaking.

"Let's do it." He stands up, shoving the purse into my chest and popping the trunk of Lincoln open. "Take her bags and get in the house. I don't want her alone for long." Elation washes over me. He liked it. We will be rich. But most importantly he agreed to let Misty live. She was going to be ok. I could almost cry in relief.

_She was going to be ok._

* * *

The television is up way too loudly when I walked back into the house. Pudge and Nathan are sitting on the couch eating away at chips and guzzling beer. Celebrating. I try to cross the room without addressing them. I'm much too tired to deal with their jabs.

"Where you keeping her Ash?" Nathan's question stops me as I go to climb the first step. The look on his face is predatory. Repulsive. If he touched her I swear –

"Her? Her who?" Apparently Pudge had not been filled in.

"He kidnapped some whore tonight. The moron didn't realize she was in the house! Looks like he's hiding that nice piece of ass up in his room, I heard her moving around earlier." He's howling with laughter, enjoying the fact that I screwed up once more. My fist curls digging my nails into my palm. I'm not in the mood to deal with them.

"Don't talk about her like that," my tone is threatening. Chilling. One I've never used before. They quiet instantly, staring at me with wide, fearful eyes. I turn back around heading up the stairs, making it to the top before Nathan finally responds.

"Better take advantage of the fact that you finally managed to get a girl into your bed while you still can!" I open my bedroom door and slam it. No one had the ability to get under my skin like Nathan did. Inside I toss the bags and turn to the door, my anger getting the better of me as I beat my fist against it a couple of times. I don't need his comments thrown at me. I know I'm undesirable. Prick. How dare he even suggest that I would think about doing that to anyone! I lean against the door, begging myself to calm down. I hear someone clear their throat behind me.

_Misty._

I had forgotten she was sitting there during my fit. I'm mortified. What must she think of me? After everything she's seen today it can't be anything good.

"I don't like them," She says, referring to the two downstairs. She must have heard their taunts. I grin at her, feeling a small sliver of companionship.

"Me neither," I notice something sitting next to her on the bed. It takes me all of two seconds to know what it is. The magazine! How did she get it? She notices that I see it, her eyebrows rising in question.

"Care to tell me why you have this?" She interrogates. My face is instantly on fire, I can feel the blush burning my cheeks.

"Um, well uh," Smooth Ash, real smooth. Her gaze is intimidating. She's got a lot of spunk and dare I say it audacity to challenge her captor like she is. I like it a lot. I admire it.

"Um is not an answer. What are you doing with this?" What can I say that doesn't make me sound like a total creep or pervert? I try to rub the blush off my face. I just stare at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Her expression is getting darker and darker. "It means something doesn't it Ash! Were you targeting me? Stalking me? How long have you spent coming up with this kidnapping scheme? You can cut the crap, if you already have it all figured out then just-"

"You're pretty okay! I like the way you look and I bought it!" I interrupt her angry rant, feeling defensive in my embarrassment. Her question is unfair, one that I don't want to answer, but I can't let her think that my idiotic fascination with her had meant that I wanted to hurt her. That's all I'm willing to tell her for an answer. She's not getting any more out of me. She stares at me like she's stunned by my words. We sit in silence for what feels like ages, her staring at me and me wishing I could just melt into a puddle on the floor and disappear. Then everything shifted. For the first time since I had met her she smiled. It was small but it was there. It was probably my favorite thing I had ever seen. She believes me.

"Did you come up with a plan?" She yawned at the end of her question. It caused a similar reaction in me, reminding me of how tired both of us were.

"Yeah, let's talk about it in the morning though. We both need sleep. The walls are thin here; I don't want those two downstairs hearing anything we have to say." She seemed to be in agreement, crawling further onto my bed and settling in on the right side. I don't know what to do with myself, where to go. I grab a pillow and try to get settled on the floor. Misty's breathing was already slowing, she was fading fast. I would have to wake her up in order to get one of the blankets off the bed. I give up. I want her to rest. I roll over and close my eyes, trying to block out the stupid comments and loud noises from the first floor.

* * *

I woke up not long after falling asleep. My clothes were uncomfortable. The floor was painful. I was cold and frustrated because I was so worn out. Pitifully I whine, debating whether or not to sleep on the couch. I glance at my bed, at Misty, and decide it's a bad idea. I don't want to leave her alone.

I snatch a pair of sweats and a shirt off the ground, going across the hall and into the bathroom to change. Misty was asleep, but the last thing I wanted was for her to wake up and finding me changing in the room with her. There was no way that scenario would play out well.

When I get back I inch my way towards the bed, sitting on the edge and watch Misty sleep. I soak in inch by agonizing inch of her. I wanted to get to know her so badly. There was a connection there, it was unexplainable and something I had never felt with anyone else. I shouldn't feel it with her. On what planet would it ever make sense for us to be friends? Even if we hadn't met under these circumstances there's no way it could happen. How could we possibly relate? Why would someone like her even want to get to know someone like me?

My inner ramblings are interrupted by my observation of her. Her arms! Why hadn't I remembered that they were still bound? How many hours had they been forced behind her back? I swivel around turning on the lamp and rouse her. I didn't want her to be startled awake by my touches.

"Was happenin?" Her speech is slurred and hair a mess. It's adorable. I help her sit up, moving behind her and undoing the ties.

"I'm so sorry Misty, why didn't you tell me to untie you? Are you in pain? God I'm sorry," I'm carrying on, my level of guilt rising. She's finally free. She moves her arms in front of her, wincing as she rubs them. I noticed the red marks all along them.

"I assumed you'd say no," she whispered quietly, staring at the marks. I grab one of her arms, moving my hands along it and trying to rub the pain, the red splotches, all of it away. I feel terrible. I expect her to flinch, to yell at me or react in anger. Instead I hear her lightly chuckle. I look up and see her watching me.

"You really need to stop touching me so much, it's becoming a bad habit. I can take care of myself," She says it with a smile, quietly. It makes this moment seem so private. Like the circumstances of our being here aren't as messed up as they really are. Like we are friends.

"Yeah," I give her a grin, feeling contentment for the moment. I want her to be comfortable. I look at her feet, still bound together at the foot of the bed. I remember the handcuffs tucked away in the purse. I have an idea. She won't like it, but it should give her more freedom and it gets me off the ground.

"Misty, are the ropes bothering your legs?"

"Yeah." I gulp, a little nervous about what I'm about to say. I hope she can tell that my intentions are nothing but innocent.

"Charles gave me a pair of handcuffs. If you want I can undo the rope. I'll handcuff our ankles together. You'll be more comfortable that way and I'll make sure they aren't on too tight." Her expression instantly melted into one of distrust, her eyes calculating as though she was trying to figure out my motives. I'm sure she was. I'm an open book. I always have been. I'm not capable of hiding my emotions no matter how hard I try.

"You'll be here, on this bed, with me?" She over enunciates, making sure I have no doubt at what she's really getting at.

"I promise I'll give you your space. I won't touch you at all. There's plenty of space, you take one side and I'll take the other." I've done things that I'm ashamed of, have lived a life full of mistakes, but one thing I will always do is keep my word. She stares at me for a long time, her expression neutral once more. Misty isn't like me, she's brilliant at being able to hide her feelings.

"Alright," She's says it so quietly I almost miss it. I stand up, getting the cuffs and untying her legs. She stretches before I cuff her to me, her smile beaming at the blissful feeling and making me laugh. I bind her left ankle to my right one after crawling onto the bed beside her. I turn the lamp off and lay on my back, comforted by her soft breathing and the warmth emanating from her. Finally sleep takes me.


	4. You Don't Understand

Author's Note: This will be my last rapid update. Chapters will start slowing down now that my mini break is over *cries*. At best you will get a new one in a few days. Doubtful, but maybe. A big thank you shout out to my awesome reviewers Nelly92 and ultimateCCC. Your input is really valued and I love hearing from you.

Disclaimer: I do not own one iota of anything. Nada.

* * *

**Snatched**

Chapter 4

You Don't Understand

_Ash's Point of View_

I didn't want to get up. The house was quiet, a gentle calm blanketing everything. It meant my father wasn't home. It wouldn't be quiet if he was. The meth tends to keep him up for hours on end. When it ran out of his system Charles ran out of the house. I had known it would be coming any day now, he had been tweaking over the last couple of days. He would stay awake for days during this phase. I did everything I could to avoid him while he was tweaking out. He would be unpredictably violent and psychotic. The worse was the hallucinations, especially if they involved you. There were only four times in my life I had almost died, two of them happened during one of his hallucinations. The days would be hell, but the peace that came afterwards almost made it worthwhile. I loved the time when he was gone, savoring every single second of solitude.

I was warm, so blissfully warm, snuggled under the same blankets as my captive. She sighs occasionally in her sleep. It's cute, I wonder if she's aware that she does it. I sit up, grabbing the key from my pocket and unlocking the cuff around my ankle. I decide to remove Misty's as well. Maybe I can get her to trust me if I let her spend some time unrestrained. There's no way to escape this house from the second floor. I would know, I've tried more times than I can count. I slip out of the bed and from the bedroom as quietly as possible trying not to wake Misty up.

I run my hand through the knots in my hair as I finish descending the stairs, pausing and taking the time to fully absorb the dirty, shabby living space. I can't let Misty sit in this filth. I grab an empty paint bucket, filling it up with hot, soapy water and get to work throwing out trash, scrubbing floors and doing dishes. Three hours later and the small living room and kitchen were practically glowing. I feel a weird sense of pride, laughing out loud when I realize how much I sound like a housewife as I thought about how quickly it was going to get messed up again. I had picked up any paraphernalia I could find and put it in the lock box hidden behind a false wall in the closet. Misty should be safe. It might be meager, but at least it was clean.

* * *

_Misty's Point of View_

The bed felt cold, much colder than it had been. I tuck the blankets snugger around me, not wanting to wake up and face the day. For just a little longer I wanted to pretend that everything was ok and not the nightmare I was going to wake up to. I pull myself into a tighter ball, freezing as realization hit me. My leg moved freely. There was nothing holding it down. I sit up quickly, throwing the blankets back and finding the bed empty. _Ash was gone_. The cuffs had disappeared with him. A giddy elation bubbles up causing me to giggle. I soar out of bed, looking around the room for any way to escape. If I could get out of the house I could find the road and hopefully flag down a car. I run over to the sheet draped on the wall, pulling it back expecting to see a window. There's cardboard in place of the glass. No wonder it felt drafty in here. I pull back one corner, looking for a tree or slant of the roof that I could reach in order to get out. There was nothing. I spend the next fifteen minutes exploring the second floor. It was small, consisting of Ash's room, a bathroom and a closet. The window in the bathroom offered the same thing as the one in Ash's room. There was no way to get out.

I sink down onto the lid of the toilet seat, feeling incredibly disappointed. I can hear noises downstairs. I'm dreading going down, not knowing who it might be. I remember my vow to myself, that I would survive and escape, and decide to face the day. If I was lucky it would be Nathan. It wouldn't be hard to kick his butt. Scratch that it would be since he barely had one. I glance at my appearance in the mirror and almost laugh. My hair seemed to be attempting to defy gravity. I choose to ignore it and head for the staircase. I'm not looking to impress.

The air smelt clean and fresh. I was surprised, when I walked through the night before the smell had been foul, rotten and stale. I see Ash in the kitchen, whistling and bustling about as he pulled stuff out of cabinets. His smile is almost blinding as he catches sight of me.

"Morning!" He calls running over and grabbing my arms, looking at them closely. It takes me a moment before I realize that he's looking for marks, making sure I wasn't bruised. Or maybe he was hoping I would be. He seemed relieved to not find anything. I pull them out of his hands, punching him lightly on the shoulder and reminding him about our talk about touching. He just rolls his eyes and walks back into the kitchen. I follow behind him, curious as to what he's doing, escape momentarily leaving my mind.

"You hungry? I'm making breakfast if you want some," He was heating up a skillet. I looked over everything. Eggs, stuff for pancakes, whipped cream and sugary syrups were scattered all over the counter. It was fattening and sweet, the exact type of food I wasn't allowed to have.

"I'm starving!" I say, my desire for the forbidden overriding my distrust of him for a moment. Surely he wouldn't poison me if I was watching him put it together. He just laughed, claiming that my taste buds were about to be overwhelmed with the awesomeness of his cooking and getting to work. I'm skeptical, but find his attitude contagious. Soon the smells of fried food fill the house.

"We can relax a bit today, my dad is out," he calls over his shoulder trying to talk over the sound of the skillet. I notice the cuffs sitting next to him on the counter. They were sobering, a reminder that this wasn't a morning hanging out with a college friend.

"What exactly does that mean? I get to spend the day chained up down here like some dog?" I feel bitter about the restraints. They're degrading, humiliating and I hate the vulnerability they cause me. There's a bite to my tone. I noticed Ash tense.

"It means that you aren't in any danger and as long as you promise not to run then I won't tie you up, you can trust me," he turned around, leaning comfortably against the counter and facing me. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching me closely. He's trying to read me again. He's welcome to try. I'm feeling very stubborn this morning. And I don't trust him.

"And what if I do run?" I want to hear what he plans to do if I try. What kind of threats will he throw my way? I want to be prepared.

"I would love for you to try, I enjoy a good chase," He smirks, brimming with confidence and clearly joking, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm being serious," I pout at him, I don't appreciate his flippant attitude towards my question. He is a very real threat to me, I want to know what to expect.

"I wouldn't bother trying if I were you. I'm pretty quick. I know I'll catch you. You're smart, I know you know I'd catch you. You'd force me to have to put restraints back on you. I don't think you want that."

"And?" I ask, waiting to hear what the repercussion would be.

"And what? That's it. What are you wanting a return party or something?" He's seriously dense.

"I want to know what my punishment would be!" I'm getting frustrated at this point. This banter is too familiar, too friendly, too easy to fall into. I don't want to think of him as fun.

"I didn't know you were into that kind of thing," His smirk is devious. I throw an apple at his head, mortified at his insinuation.

"Hey!" He yells at me, offended and surprised. I glare at him, blush hot on my face. "Fine if you want to know, gosh I don't know, maybe I'd tickle you or something? I've always wondered if you can really tickle someone until they pee their pants."

"You can't be serious," either he is incredibly good at his act, has a serious mental deficiency or he really has no interest in hurting me. I'd rather be overly cautious then naive, deciding that he was choosing to be an unpredictable enigma. "Touch me and I'll string you up by your fingernails." I threaten him, failing to hide my smile as he snickers at the empty threat.

"I'll keep that in mind," he turns and puts my food on the plate. Three pancakes and two eggs. I watch him smother the pancakes in butter, whipped cream and strawberry syrup. It looks insanely delicious. It's a feast he is giving me. He sets the food in front of me on the counter, grabbing a stool and setting it behind me. I look around realizing he doesn't have a table to eat at. He gives me a glass of water and a fork, devoting his attention back to making his own breakfast. I poke at the food a bit, slightly afraid. I figured the egg to be safest and take a bite. Oh gosh it's good. I dig in, amazed at his cooking. Ok so it wasn't a crème rule, but it was more than I expected to receive this morning.

I smell something burning and look up. He's watching me, grinning like a fool and ignoring his burning pancakes. I clear my throat, breaking his thoughts and bringing his attention back to the present.

"You know you want to say it," he teases, shooting a coy look at me. I huff and stuff more pancake in my mouth. He steals my plate before I realize what he's doing, holding it above my head just out of reach and challenging me, forcing me to say what he wants to hear. I try jumping for it a few times unsuccessfully.

"Fine! It's great, wonderful, and I really want some more so if you don't mind…" I hold out my hand, pouting once more and giving him my best glare. He put the plate in my hand, patting me on the head in a patronizing way.

"Was that so hard?"

"Shut up Ash," I growl at him, turning my attention back to the gooey pile of sin on my plate. So good. He just laughs in a way that fills up the room.

* * *

After breakfast Ash cleans up while I shower and get dressed upstairs. I blow dry my hair and berate myself. I hadn't even been here 24 hours and I was acting chummy with the enemy. It was just last night that he kidnapped me! It felt like a lifetime ago already. He was easy to talk to. Sure it hadn't been anything deep, but he listened and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. I craved it. I wanted so badly to have a friend, someone who wanted to know me for me and that I felt that connection with. This was dangerous. Bad. Not possible. I tell myself over and over that Ash is my enemy as I run a brush through my hair, smoothing it out.

There seemed to be a mutual understanding to not discuss the abduction. Or their plans for me. Well I was about to blow that out of the water. He could be chummy, endearing and make me breakfast all day long. It won't make me forget why I'm here. I won't be caught unprepared. I had questions and he was going to answer them.

* * *

We spent the afternoon in the barn, Ash whistling happily while I sat on a bucket, munching on a bag of grapes and reading through a book on the social structure of Dugong I found in my suitcase. We hadn't left each other's sides since getting ready for the day. Whether it was from distrust or a genuine desire to be around one another I wasn't sure. I kept telling myself it was distrust.

We talked idly, sharing small, insignificant things that shouldn't mean much to me but they do. If someone talks to me it's normally about my career in regards to _Tri_. I spend all day either focused on school or on work. I don't want to spend my social interactions discussing it. But that's not the way it generally goes because everyone else wants to know about it. I find out his favorite color is blue, he has a really bad sweet tooth, chocolate is his favorite and weirdly that he cuts his own hair. We discuss random, strange things like what we'd do if the zombie apocalypse suddenly struck us. I laugh, thinking that if I could pick a partner to help me survive such a worldwide catastrophe I'd pick Ash. I throw the thought away as quickly as it comes.

"What are you doing?" I can't hold my curiosity any longer. His back is to me, grease all over his clothes as he wipes his hands on a rag and looks at my car. There's a giant hole along the seam of his back pocket. I notice that his underwear matches his shirt. I would punch myself in the face for the thought if it wouldn't make me look like the biggest freak.

"I'm stripping parts off your car," He turned around, that smile that didn't seem to fade all day present. He had grease on his face.

"Why?!" I ask, incensed. Here we are having a nice conversation and he is destroying my property!

"If I take off enough we can take what's left and dump it somewhere. The cops will eventually find it. It'll get put it up for auction, we buy it for cheap, put the parts back on and legally have us one fancy piece of junk to sell."

"First of all Penelope is NOT junk! Second of all won't the police know it's stolen?"

"Penelope?" His expression is wry, mocking me.

"Penny for short," I'm snooty about it, turning my nose down on him despite the fact that I was sitting and he was standing.

"Why?"

"For that song, you know Penny and Me? Hanson?" He continues to look baffled. "_Penny and me like to roll the windows down, turn the radio up push the peddle to the ground…" _I cut off my little solo because of the look on his face. I throw my grape as hard as I can, bouncing it off the middle of his forehead.

"Hanson's still around? Who listens to that crap?" He's completely mocking me now. I pelt as many grapes as I can at him as fast as possible. His laughter fills up the room once more as he uselessly tries to dodge my fruit projectiles.

"I do! Now answer my second question, how is it that you don't get caught?"

"Because after you're family realizes you're missing and notify the police your car will also be filed as stolen. Once the police find the frame the theft record is removed and the insurance company will auction it. Knowing my dad he will sell somebody the parts and the tip about the auction on the frame ahead of time. We get cash, they get a luxury car for a steal. Literally." He seems so proud as he tells me about this, almost as if he expects me to be excited with him.

"But that's _my _car! I don't understand how you can be alright with this! If you want money go get a job, earn it the honest way, do something that doesn't destroy lives!" I'm going on a rampage now. I just can't understand how someone like Ash can live like this.

"It's not as simple as you think it is! Jobs, earning an honest living, some of us just don't have that option!" He seems upset now. Good. I want to know what I have to face when I push his buttons. It will help me plan my escape. A part of me, the part that I want to suffocate at the moment, genuinely wants to understand because I genuinely like Ash as a person.

"Why the heck not?" It sounds like he's making excuses to me.

"I don't have an education Misty, I had to drop out at fourteen. It was my only option. I've been breaking the law ever since." He isn't yelling anymore. He's withdrawn, his head bent low and shoulders hunched in, almost as if he was trying to make himself smaller. Less noticeable.

"Why not get your GED? Leave? Advance from there and go to college? _Do_ something with your life?"

"How am I supposed to do that? I'm in too deep, I don't know anything else. I'm bound to dangerous people, people that aren't going to just let me walk away. And where am I going to get the funds to do that exactly? I can't even pay for the books to study for the test, much less a place to rent. Everyone I know is tied to this world, tied to crime. I'm stuck with this lifestyle." He's running his hands through his hair, knocking his hat off, pacing back and forth. He's agitated. For someone with this life it surprises me how open he is with his emotions. I can practically hear the pain, the disappointment and hopelessness in his voice.

"I don't understand though. You steal, and from what I saw yesterday you are good at finding expensive stuff. How is it you don't have enough money?" I'm surprised he is sharing so much with me. I want to know more. I tell myself it's because anything he gives me can help me formulate a plan.

"I don't make as much as you think. Those guys in there, look they aren't good people alright. Most of the cash goes to sustaining their addictions. I take care of us. I'm keeping this place going."

"What you really mean is that your money goes to your own addiction, right?" He does drugs? I could tell the others did. Drugs are a problem in the modeling world. Pressure to stay thin makes a lot of girls do crazy things. Drugs can be a great way to remove hunger. Not to mention the constant presence they seem to have at parties… We are warned about their side effects. The business doesn't care about our health, but they do care about appearance. Drugs had a way of damaging the goods so to speak. All those side effects had been harped on with great detail. Ash's buddies were walking poster children of drug use. But Ash? He didn't look it at all. I don't know why I didn't connect the dots. Of course he would use.

"No." His eyes are suddenly fiery, his tone intense. I've hit a nerve. I can see his jaw clenching. "There's not enough money in the world that could make me touch that crap." I want to keep pushing his buttons, see what happens, but I stop myself. Underneath the anger is pain, a very real pain. I choose to bite my tongue, unable to go further.

"So you don't make much and what you do make you spend here? Food and stuff?" I try to focus on the positive side of this.

"Yeah," his voice sounds distant as he works on tearing apart Penny.

"So you're a full time thief? And you happened to be in my neighborhood ?"

"I wouldn't say I'm a full time thief. I do other stuff too."

"Such as?" The question hangs in the air being blatantly ignored. His arm muscles strain as he works the bolts on my car. I finally give up, returning to my book and wishing I hadn't thrown all my grapes at him.

"I deal." His answer is low, quiet, almost as if I wasn't meant to hear it.

"Deal? Like at a casino?"

"Drug deal! I'm a dealer, a runner, I sell crack. I'm the worst kind of person you can imagine!" He had exploded back up, standing and throwing his wrench as hard as he could against the wall. "I'm not proud of it ok? It's my life and it sucks. Don't sit there spouting things about GED's and honest work. Don't sit there and judge me! You sit in your big houses with name brand clothes throwing cash around having everything handed to you while some of die a little bit inside every day, compromising everything we believe in in the name of survival! You wouldn't understand, don't pretend like you possibly can!" I'm stunned by his outburst at first, but soon the anger overrides any other emotion I'm feeling. I march straight up to him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and forcing his face down to my level. An angry blush is burning my face as I stare straight into his eyes.

"Maybe I don't understand. I've never walked in your shoes. But you sure as hell know nothing about my life! You think money is going to make you happy? You think that if you had enough cash this would all go away? You're not the only one living in a prison, trapped in a situation you can't stand! Don't tell me I don't know how that feels!" I'm so angry I start to cry. I shove him away from me, turning around and marching out of the barn. He's hot on my heels, snatching my arm and turning me to face him.

"Where are you going?" His voice sounds broken, upset. I'm too angry to care.

"I'm just going to the house! Let me go!" I walk as quick as I can as soon as he releases me. He follows me inside, but lets me be as I march up the stairs and into his room. I slam the door, falling into his bed and crying. The last couple of days have been too much for me. My emotions are too raw, too close to the surface. I hate it, I hate it all.

* * *

_Ash's Point of View_

I can hear her crying upstairs, these walls hiding nothing from anyone in the house. I'm ashamed, absolutely ashamed. The day had been going great, better than planned, and true to nature I had to ruin it. It's not her fault. I can't blame her. I am a horrible person, someone worth judging, the lowest of low. It hurt to hear from her though. I had almost deluded myself into thinking she might be different. That she might look past all of that and see that I'm doing my best, that I _want_ to be a great guy. Especially to her.

I don't know what to do. Do I go upstairs and explain myself? I don't know if I could. Do I apologize? Pretend it didn't happen? I'm her kidnapper, am I even supposed to care? I don't want to be her kidnapper though! I hate it, I hate it all.

I get an idea, remembering something from a conversation in the barn. She mentioned she loved cookies when I brought up sweets but that she wasn't allowed to have any. Apparently she had to sneak them when she could. One of the few things I was good at was making cookies. Snicker doodle, that's the one she mentioned by name. I go to the kitchen and pull out ingredients, hoping that busying my hands will distract me from the noises she's making.

I learned to cook from a guy that I would call a baking god. My freshman year of high school we were given senior mentors. I was paired with Brock Slate. I expected him to ignore me, pretend I wasn't there and enjoy his last year. But he didn't. He brought me lunch every day. Guess he noticed I never had any food to eat. It was always more than I could eat, and believe me I tried! He didn't eat with me but the fact that he would think of me was enough. It was the best food I had ever had. Homemade soups, breads, lasagnas and more were given freely to me. And once a week, after school he'd meet me in the home ec room and teach me something new about cooking. If it wasn't for him I'd still be making mac and cheese with hot dog chunks mixed in. I never got to thank him since I just vanished from school, but I owe him more than I can say.

I pop the first batch in the oven and notice the noise had ceased upstairs.

* * *

I'm standing outside my bedroom door, warm plate of cookies in my hand, unsure of what to do next. The sun had already set. Everything was dark and hushed. Maybe she was asleep. I knock on the door lightly. I never get a response so I step inside. The room is black, completely devoid of light. I flip the light switch, worried for a moment that she wasn't there. I see her lying on the bed, eyes staring at the ceiling. Her expression is blank.

"Misty," I call to her softly, wanting her attention. It was like she hadn't even noticed my presence. She doesn't respond. I sigh, walking to the bed and sitting next to her on it. She continued to stare at the ceiling.

"I made you cookies. They're snicker doodle. You like snicker doodle right?" I don't know why I'm practically whispering. Maybe it's because I feel so bad and she is being so silent. At that moment I'm feeling guilty for even existing.

"I'm sorry," my voice breaks, making me feel even more pathetic, "I had no right to snap at you. You have every reason to think the things you do about me. Hell you should hate me. I've taken your stuff, kidnapped you, and now I'm snapping because you look down on me. Misty I'm an ass. You can say it. I'm just so stressed. I feel trapped. I shouldn't have done it, I –"

"Shut up Ash," she says it quietly, a small tear falling down her cheek, "Stop apologizing." She pats the bed next to her asking me to lie down. I put the cookies on the night stand and lay down, staring at the ceiling. I'm anxious.

"Do you really think if you had enough money that everything would be perfect?" She's the one whispering now. Her words from earlier flash through my mind. I'm not sure whether I should tell her to the truth or what I think she wants me to say. I glance at her. I know she'd want the truth.

"Yes." It's that simple.

"You told me that I don't understand your life. You don't understand mine either." Another tear escapes, slow and languid. Her cheeks are rosy from crying, her eyes rimmed red. I want to kiss the tear trails off her face, kiss her and kiss her until every hurt, every disappointment, every pain disappears and she's so lightheaded she can do nothing but smile. The thought of it terrifies me.

"I hate my life too. You can have all the money in the world, be surrounded by every object you ever desire, but in the end it's just stuff. It's empty. Meaningless. I don't really feel human. I'm a product, a zoo animal, something to look at and use in order to bring in a buck. Everything I do, every relationship, every hobby, heck every minute, is carefully weighed and compared to whether or not it will maintain the image I'm told I'm supposed to have. My life isn't my own. My decisions aren't mine to make. I can't trust anyone, I can't, I can't – " she sobs, choking it down and reigning in her thoughts, "You aren't the only one who feels trapped Ash. I do understand, maybe more than you would think." She finally turns her head to look at me. Her guard is down. In her eyes I can see every emotion. There's pain, resentment, a hurt that resonates deep within me.

"I had finally decided to try to change things, try to break out of the stronghold this lifestyle had on me. I don't care about money or maintaining some sort of celebrity status. Last year I went to college. I – I want to be a marine biologist. I can't even tell you the uproar it caused. Not just with my family. I've got publicists, managers, a lot of people whose careers are centered around me. But not really me, just my image. The way the world sees me, who they believe I am, it's not real. I've always felt alone but this year, this year it's been so hard. I haven't talked to my family the whole time I've been at school. It was my own fault, I didn't want to. I didn't want to hear the disappointment or hear any attempts at changing my mind. I ignored all their calls. This Sunday would have been my first time talking to them. And now- now I won't- I might not ever talk to them again. Our last words would be angry, empty ones. I–" The tears are flowing freely now. Her voice had broken, causing her stop and breathe deeply. I stare at her face, her eyes are closed, but I can literally feel her pain. I reach over running the pad of my thumb along her soft cheek, trying to wipe away her tears. It's doing no good, but I continue to stroke her cheek tenderly. She opens her eyes and stares. I can see it, she feels that same connection with me that I do with her. I'm not sure if she acknowledges it, but her eyes can't lie. Not when she's finally being vulnerable and letting me see what's really in her heart.

"I guess you do understand," I'm whispering again, trying to bring an air of calm back to the room. She gives me a watery smile in return. "You don't need to be worrying about last words to your parents. You will see them again. I've got a plan, remember? You're going to make it home. Trust me." I can't stop stroking her face. I'd lay there all night touching her if she'd let me. I don't know how long we lay there just watching each other.

"That's right!" She sits up suddenly as if just remembering, moving to lean over me, "You totally weaseled your way out of talking about it all day today. Well not now Ketchum. I have you cornered. There's nowhere to run, spill." She's smiling, leaning over me and jabbing her finger into my chest with every supposed threat. I poke her forehead, pushing her back as I sit up.

"Yes ma'am! But first you are going to eat my cookies. I didn't slave away just for you to ignore them." I sit the plate between us. She wipes the remaining tears off her face and snags a snicker doodle. She bites into it and closes her eyes, moaning lowly. It's hot. Unbearably so. I wonder if she has any idea what she keeps doing to my mind.

"These are so good they should be illegal. If it was possible I'd hire you as my chef! I swear I'd be fat by the end of the year." She's diving for another one, giddy and bouncing slightly in excitement. I laugh wishing more than she'd ever know that it was possible.

"I don't think I could put fat on those scrawny legs no matter how hard I tried," she scowls, punching me on the shoulder and finishing off her second cookie. She's not scrawny. I'm not about to tell her that though.

"Alright talk. Tell me about this plan." I cross my legs, facing her and open my mouth to speak when I hear the front door slam downstairs. There's no way Charles is back yet.

"Ash!"

I watched Misty's lip curl up in a snarl, her eyes hardening at the sound of the voice bellowing my name."What's Nathan doing here?" She asks me, loathing dripping from her tone.

"I don't know. Wait here, I'm going to check it out."

* * *

"What are you doing here?" I growl at him, beyond annoyed to see his ugly mug. He was pawing at the leftover dough in the bowl, licking it off his nasty fingers.

"I have word from Charles. You're running tonight," He's gleeful at this, knowing how much I hate dealing. "He wants you to sell the rest of it. We don't want it hanging around here too long."

"That's ridiculous! Why can't he send you? I have Misty here, I can't spend the night at that house and leave her here alone," I'm confused. Hadn't he left her in my care? He wasn't about to risk her being discovered with us. A sickening smile spread across Nathan's face gradually showing off his nubby, stained teeth. Or what little of them he had left.

"You just leave her to me. I'll treat her to a good time. Trust me I won't let her out of my sight," It all made sense now. Nathan had set the whole thing up. He had his eye on a prize and had laid all the cards out in his favor. Was I even supposed to go out tonight? He easily could be lying, getting me to cover his shift while he went upstairs and- I push the would be actions of Nathan from my mind. The rage I felt even thinking of it scared me. No, I'm not letting this happen. But if my father had wanted me to deal tonight then I have to do it. I'm skeptical, but I can't take a chance and not work if he wanted me to.

"Fine, I'll go out. But you're not staying here with her," I leave the room before he can answer, rushing up the stairs and back to my room. I need a plan.

Think Ash, _think. _


	5. Selling Rox

Author's Note: If you are reading this then you must be one of my readers who I love and adore :) I'm excited to share this chapter with you guys! I hope you aren't disappointed in any way. It's super long, longer than any chapter I've done at this point, but I simply couldn't find a good break off point sooner than the one I picked. I hope you don't mind.

A super special thanks to ultimateCCC, Jemzyboz and EliXiR2722 for taking the time to leave me a review. It means more than I can say! I was able to get this together quicker than I anticipated. I'm a terrible person, I wrote this during biology *ashamed* I was falling asleep, I'm sorry but mitochondria do not excite me in any way, and I decided to whip out my computer and got going on this. Hey at least I wasn't on Facebook right? No, ok lol.

***Warning*** Yes I feel like this chapter deserves an extra warning. There are some very heavy subjects discussed in this chapter, especially about drugs. Drug dealing, drug use and prostitution all appear in this chapter. If you are too young to be reading this stuff then please ease my mind and turn back.

I also want to say that I do not advocate drug use, drug dealing or prostitution in any way, shape or form. I am merely trying to force myself to write from a perspective that I am completely unfamiliar with. I've done a lot of research for this story trying to understand how these things work, how the people that do them feel, and to put it in a story that might be entertaining for readers. There are people out there that feel like Ash. There are others that don't, that are more like Nathan and you've got attitudes that run all over the place and in between.

So Yeah. Drugs are bad. Stay in school. Make wise choices.

Disclaimer: Pokémon is currently not in my possession. One day Nintendo, one day. Right after I win the lottery. This is a solid life plan.

* * *

**Snatched**

Chapter 5

Selling Rox

_Ash's Point of View_

"Take me with you then." We're back in my room, Misty sitting cross legged on the bed watching me pace back and forth. I do that when I'm anxious and needing to bleed some energy off. We have to whisper, we can't risk Nathan hearing anything we say, and even in hushed tones I'm still concerned that he can hear every word. I'm not scared of Nathan, not in the least bit. But he's got a mouth that loves to tattle about anything and everything. I can't risk this getting back to Charles…

She has officially gone mad. That's the only logical conclusion for why she would even suggest such a stupid thing. Why on earth would she want to go with me into the dead of night, surrounded by all kinds of intoxicated people and put herself in danger? It's not a picnic. No.

Unless… of course. Maybe she sees this as her chance to escape. We go out, she screams for help and someone will swoop in and save the day. I almost pity her when I think about it. She's naïve if that's her plan. People don't save you just because you scream for help. Not in this world. Still it's not a chance I'm willing to take.

"Why would I do that? You don't know what you're suggesting. If you think this is a good chance to get some attention and get away you're wrong. No one will care when you cry for help," I hate saying it like that, like she doesn't matter, because it's not true. But that is the reality of the streets, it's every man for himself. Regardless I can't bank on the norm, can't risk taking her out and someone associating her with me.

"That's not my plan. You can't leave me here with that-that _thing_. I already know what you'll do if I'm left behind, you're going to tie me back up to this bed aren't you? It would make sense, I could easily escape with Nathan in the house, but Ash please you can't do that to me. Please do not leave me defenseless with that man!" I sigh, rubbing my face. There's no good solution to this. I don't like the idea of her being in either environment. Both are risky for different reasons.

"Say I hypothetically take you with me, how will we keep people from recognizing you? They don't know you're missing yet and I don't need witnesses seeing us together." I briefly wonder if Charles would actually kill me if someone spotted me and Misty together. It makes me heart constrict that I even have to wonder. She bites her lip, scanning the room almost as if a thought would leap out. Her eyes suddenly light up as she snatches one of my hats off the floor and puts it on her head, spinning it backwords and doing the most atrocious impersonation of a gangster I've ever seen.

"Simple, turn me into a thug. Disguise me. I'm very good at playing a part, pretending to be someone different. If we can get me to blend in then no one will even notice me." I soak in her appearance, rolling the idea over in my mind. There's no way she's going to fit in.

"Misty, no offense, but you don't exactly look like-" She whacks me with the hat she was wearing, interrupting me and starts shuffling through more of my clothes.

"Perfect!" She cries as she grabbed one of my sweatshirts and throws it on. After tucking all of her hair up in the hat she pulls up the hood, her face hidden from view. "See, if you could find me some sunglasses then no one would recognize me. No one would question me wearing glasses at night right?" She looked like she was being swallowed alive in my stuff. I walk over to her knocking up the brim of the hat up causing some of her hair to spill back out from underneath it. She scowls at me in response.

"No it wouldn't be weird. A lot of people do it trying to hide their face. Drugs are a dirty secret for all types of people, a secret they don't want getting out." She starts singing that old song about wearing sunglasses at night. If I didn't know better I would think she was trying to calm my frazzled nerves. It works. I shush her behind a chuckle, worried that her volume is getting to be too much. We can't have Nathan hearing anything.

"How are we going to get you out of the house? There's no way Nathan is going to let me walk out the front door with you. And he's going to notice you're missing if you sneak out." She bites her lip again. She seems to do it whenever she's deep in thought. I wish she would stop, it messes with my train of thought and I need to be focused right now.

"What's he doing right now?"

"When I left he was eating cookie dough," I have no clue where she's going with this. A wicked smile breaks out across her face.

"So he likes these cookies right? This is going to be a breeze," She walks over to her suitcase, pulling something out and tosses it to me. Pills. A prescription sleep aid. I look at her wondering why in the world she had this.

"Slip that into a drink and bring him some cookies. Once it hits his system he will be out for hours. We sneak out, do your thing and get back before he wakes up." I look at her in awe. She came up with this plan effortlessly.

"You're brilliant! I'd love to have you as a partner in crime!"

"I don't commit crimes Ash, I'm merely devious," her eyes are twinkling, almost as though she was excited. It wipes any happy feeling straight out of me. She's so innocent it hurts. If she had any clue what we were going to do tonight, what we would see, she wouldn't feel any hint of anticipation.

* * *

It's amazing how quickly the medicine hits Nathan's system. I left Misty upstairs, coming down and grunting to Nathan that I wanted to eat before I left. I can never have anything without him insisting he deserves some as well. He dove straight into my trap, grabbing my cookie straight out of my hand and guzzling the drink I had prepared for myself. He was unconscious on the couch, twisted into an unbearably uncomfortable looking position. His neck will be screaming when he wakes up. I really didn't care enough to move him.

I called upstairs to Misty that she could come down. I felt rude doing it, almost like I was that kind of guy who takes a girl on a date but doesn't walk her to the door, but I wanted to make sure Nathan was really unconscious. He didn't even flinch at the noise. Or Misty's stomping steps down the stairs.

She was twirling a pair of sunglasses in her hand, that wicked smile still on her face as she approached Nathan. She pulled out a tube and leaned over the man, humming her sunglasses song once more. When she backed away I saw the product of her handy work. The rich, blush pink lipstick coated Nathan's lips in a thick, gooey layer. Misty seemed pleased with herself, taking the uncapped makeup and gently laying it in Nathan's hand so as not to wake him up, making it look like he applied the product himself. Nathan snorts in his sleep, smacking his lips and getting the pink goop all over his teeth. She shuffled away looking to me for approval. I grab her arm and nearly sprint out of the house before I bust out laughing. We collapse in a fit of laughter against the hood of the car, sides hurting and tears in our eyes. It probably wouldn't be this funny to most people, but the mutual disdain we felt for the man only made the moment richer. I reach into the back of my memory, trying to remember the last time I laughed so much that it was hard to breathe. I couldn't remember. She was amazing.

"Now THAT'S how you sneak out of a house. Ash you were great! He was out so fast," she was giggling, staring back at the run down place. I wished for the thousandth time that day that our circumstances were different. It's so easy being around Misty. I wonder if we would be best friends in another world. I turn to our ride for the night, a Volkswagon Rabbit, and open the passenger side door for her.

"After you ma'am." I'm being cheeky, bowing slightly and waiting for her to get in. What I get for my efforts is a punch to the shoulder and a reprimand.

"I can take care of myself Ash," she huffs as she gets in. But I can tell she isn't truly mad. I lean over the car looking into her sparkling eyes and for one moment let myself get lost in this one second, pushing what we'd face tonight out of my mind. I reach out and tug at the hood of the sweatshirt, my fingers occasionally brushing her cheek as I do so.

"I know Mist," I say it softly, too tenderly, too caught up in her, "You look great in my sweatshirt." I shut the door before I can hear her response. When I get in I notice Misty looking very uncomfortable, trying to take up as little space as possible. I panic thinking that it was because of what I had said and done a moment ago. I get ready to apologize when I notice that her focus is pointedly at the interior of the car. It's disgusting, liquids and other unidentifiable substances coat everything in crusty trails. There are cigarettes and empty alcohol containers littering the car along with all kinds of trash. The dash had a solid wall of fast food wrappers making their permanent home along it. It's not even my car but I instantly burn with embarrassment.

"Please tell me this isn't your car," she pokes at a box on the floor with her toe looking horrified when a hoard of flies pours out.

"No it's Pudge and Nathan's. But it's our ride for the night, my dad has my truck." Her response is to roll down the window, desperate for airflow. I just laugh at her, pulling my canvas bag into the vehicle and putting it in the back seat. She stops her over exaggerated actions and pauses, curious about the bag.

"What's in that?" She asks me while she goes to reach for it. I wrap her wrist in my hand before she gets to it, shaking my head no as a clear indicator that she was not to touch it.

"Our supplies for tonight," is the only answer I give her as I back us out of the driveway and into the darkness.

* * *

_Misty's Point of View_

We had been driving down the road for a long time now, the moon was shining bright allowing me to see everything around us. All I see are trees, miles and miles of trees. We are so far from anyone out here. I wonder if Ash has neighbors. It seems like he doesn't, then again I can't see anything past all the vegetation. He's tense, I can see it in the tightness of his jaw and the way he keeps twitching his hand as he drives. I try to keep conversation light, trying to calm him down. I don't understand why I feel the desire to do so, but for now I don't question it and focus on him.

"Misty we need to talk about what's going to happen tonight," he interrupts my story about the time I was on a date and I sneezed on a guy who tried to kiss me. He shoots me an apologetic look, but I understand his reason for disrupting me. The road had changed; we were on pavement, meaning we must be getting closer to town.

"You're my girlfriend," was his next statement, voice serious without a trace of humor.

"What? I am not!" I glare at him, shocked. This hardly seemed like a conversation we should even be having.

"I need a solid alibi as to why you're here with me tonight. Nobody trusts each other, and if I can't give a good explanation as to why you're there then you risk getting shot or worse. I don't want anyone touching you. So for tonight you pretend you're my girlfriend. That's part of the role you play." I look ahead of me, biting my lip and thinking. What he says makes sense; I can't find a single logical reason to refute it. I try to come up with a better cover story but come up short. He said he has been doing this since he was fourteen. Surely his clients would know he doesn't have a sister.

"Alright," I give in feeling uncomfortable with the fact that the idea doesn't bother me as much as it should. I'm going to need serious psychiatric help after this I'm convinced. Normal girls don't feel anything but hate for their drug dealing, thieving kidnappers.

"We are going to a house where I will set up the product for sale. People will be coming in and out all night. You need to stay quiet, not a word. Don't talk to me or them. Don't make faces, just try to be invisible. If I address you you need to act submissive, not a word and if it requires a word be quiet. Very quiet. I don't want anyone's attention lingering on you." I'm immediately dissatisfied with everything about this plan. I go to open my mouth to argue when he interrupts me, "_Please_ Misty, I'm begging you to not fight me, just trust me for once. You don't know what you're walking into. I do. I'm asking you to do this not because I'm trying to degrade you but because it's what's going to keep you safest. Men get killed doing what I'm about to do every day. This isn't child's play. This is life and death and we need to treat it that way," I instantly hush up. His tone is so tense, so serious. It takes me back to my house, to the time he was arguing with his dad to keep me alive.

"Fine, I will be quiet," I tell him. He gives me a small smile, driving with his knees and reaching back into the bag. He pulls out a knife and a gun. I'm all of a sudden sweating, anxiety flooding my veins. I can't help the thousands of scenarios that wash through my mind of Ash putting the barrel to my head, killing me where I sit or Ash pulling the car over, taking me into the woods and using me as target practice until I'm finally dead. It causes a weird dilemma internally. If you asked me yesterday I would have had no doubt that this man would do those things in the blink of an eye. Today it's hard to picture Ash hurting a fly. But I know he could. I'm unwilling to pretend he won't.

"Relax Mist," he says it like he can read my thoughts, unnerving me even more, "I just want you to know that I am equipped with weapons. I will protect you. I have us covered," His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

* * *

I'm shocked when we get out of the car and walk into the house. It's adorable. A small single story place nestled in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. It's fully furnished inside, small decorations adorning the walls and the curtains flowing from the breeze created by the air conditioner. This is a million times nicer than the place Ash lives. He seems to notice my expression.

"What is it?"

"It's just, it's so… so nice. Normal. Not at all what I pictured. I thought it would be nasty, falling apart, kinda like… " I let the sentence die off, realizing what I was about to say. I pictured the crack house to be just like his own house. Ash seems to know what I was going to say. He gives me a sad smile and moves to the kitchen, setting his bag on the counter.

"My dad owns this place. It's sole purpose is for dealing. Pudge and Nathan live here to keep the police thinking it's just a normal house. We keep it clean and nice on purpose. The dumpier a place is the more suspicious it becomes. Nobody thinks of drug dealers in places like this," He is speaking so quietly I have to move in close to him to hear. I see him pulling out small bags with a white substance in them. He lays the drug on the counter, crushing and cutting it and scooping it into even smaller bags. He then ties the tiny bag and sets it aside, beginning the process all over again.

"Why are we whispering?" I ask him, wondering why the sudden need for secrecy.

"We are open for business right now, anyone can walk in. I need you to put your sunglasses on," he's so tense, so different from the Ash I spent the day joking with. You would never know this man had a single ounce of jovialness in him. He reacts to every small noise. I'm watching him closely, confused by his behavior.

"This is a dangerous life Misty. I have to be alert at all times. One moment of distraction can cost me." There he goes again, responding as if he can read my mind. His attitude is affecting me, putting me on edge, making me wonder just what I had gotten myself into. After he's finished with the small bags he puts a few in his pocket and reaches into the cupboard, pulling out a safe and putting the rest within it. He puts the safe back and digs around the canvas bag, pulling out my worst nightmare. The handcuffs.

I react blindly, thoughts of another Ash instantly flooding my mind, an Ash who tied me up in my home and trapped me in a car, an Ash who suggested I be kidnapped in the first place. Scenarios of bondage and stab wounds and gun shots that kill were all there in my mind. He could kill me here. Panic gripped me further as I realized that we were alone. There was no one to protect me. I almost make it to the front door when he grabs me, roughly throwing me against the wall and pinning me to it.

"What the hell are you doing?!" He is hissing in my ear, barely contained fury and something else lacing his words. Is it fear? He grabs my hands before I can get a good kidney shot in and holds them above my head, stretching me up so high I can barely reach the floor.

"There's no way I'm letting you tie me up just so you can kill me. Maybe this isn't a drug thing at all. Maybe this is the final stage of ransom negotiations and you are keeping me in the dark? You haven't told me about this supposed plan yet! Do you have a camera somewhere so that my parents can see their daughter tied up? Are you going to torture me until they give you what you want? Are –" He presses his cheek to my own, his whole body shaking.

"Enough," is his single plea into my ear to stop. He sounds hurt by my words. "How could you think I would do that to you?" His fingers start ghosting down my arms, unhurriedly making their way from there down my sides before he wraps his arms around me. I'm not sure whether he is trying to comfort and soothe my mind or his own. He starts rocking me back and forth.

"I'm cuffing you because I don't want anyone trying to grab you. A second, that's all it takes, for someone to run out of this house with you. I guess I also need to cuff you to keep you from running off as well," He says that last part brokenly, as though I've betrayed him in some way. "I don't know what I need to do to get you to trust me Misty. I promise I'll tell you the plan, not here though. But Charles said he would let you live, he said it. He won't kill you. Once he makes up his mind he never changes it. I know he won't. And I'm here to protect you, no one will hurt you. Believe in me." I hate that he's making me feel guilty. I have every right to run, to flee from him as fast as possible, to _not_ trust him. So why is it that I feel in the wrong?

"Then let's get me restrained before someone shows up," I whisper, resigned, suddenly feeling like I betrayed myself with the sentence. Sacrificing my need for his comfort. What's wrong with me? He squeezes me closer before releasing me, guiding me to the dining room. He cuffs my ankle to the intricate bars along the bottom of the chair. The wooden chair is lightweight; I could easily run with it. But I guess that's not the point. It isn't meant to be an imprisonment, it's meant to be a hindrance until he can get to me. I'm wedged into the far corner of the room, the table in front of me. To anyone looking in I'm just relaxing with Ash but standoffish enough to look as though I don't want to talk to anyone else. The cuff is discreet, not noticeable unless someone was searching for it.

"This is the last thing I am going to say, than we stop talking for the night, clear," I nod once to let him know I understand, "You need to understand that people here can be really insensitive. The things they say about you, about me, even some of the things I say may upset you or hurt your feelings. You need to not react. If a guy asks if you're my bitch I'm going to smile and say damn straight and that's the end of it. It doesn't mean I approve of what they say, but I'm not about to have a gun pulled on me for it. That would be stupid, and could wind up getting you in a lot of trouble. You also need to not react to the people that come in here. Reality is everyone does drugs. I have regulars who are homeless, prostitutes, and then some who are doctors, nurses, one that's a politician. At the end of the day they are all people and this is the one place they expect to not be judged for their addiction. I promise I will answer any questions you might have after we are back in the car and heading to my house. Understand?" I nod again, letting him know I understand, feeling like any words I say would be useless.

"I promise to keep you safe, trust me," he says it to me again. I almost wonder if he thinks that if he says it enough I will believe it.

"Promise you'll keep yourself safe too?" I ask. I instantly regret the words. I'm a fool. I'm worried though. I hadn't realized the gravity of the situation we were in until we got here. His smile is beaming as he nods his answer back.

* * *

It was less than a minute after we spoke that someone showed up. I've been here for hours now, overwhelmed by the night already. The very first man that came in saw me before he saw Ash. He whipped out his gun faster than I could process, had it pointed and ready to fire as he demanded to know who I was, what I was doing there, if I was a snitch before Ash got a hold of the situation. It was strange watching him work. This was literally a different man in front of me. He was shrewd. There was a hard edge to him that spoke of experience and a rough life. He was very good at getting people to do what he wanted yet at the same time there was charisma there. He would smile at them, ask about how they were doing and was genuinely concerned about their lives. He'd ask about marriages, children, jobs, shelter and food. He knew their situations and had clearly talked with them before this moment. It was obvious the ones he didn't know, he would ask their names and was gifted at getting them to open up about their personal lives. These individuals genuinely enjoyed his presence. I'm beginning to think Ash has some kind of super power, a sixth sense that makes people fall for him, like him, trust him.

There were a couple of individuals that came in who looked like they'd been through hell and back. I was surprised when Ash reached into his canvas bag and pulled out soup contained in its own microwavable, disposable bowl. He would heat it up and talk with these folks as they smoked their crack and shared their news with him. One man had noticed me staring while he lit up. I was stunned that he hadn't even made it out the front door before he was using. He laughed, telling Ash that he had snagged him one that was too pure, as if that made me defective in some way, and addressed me. He explained that he liked to try the product before he handed over cash. His reason had been bad experiences, telling me one story about one dealer who had sold him drywall dust instead of the illegal substance he was seeking. I smiled at the man, trying to convey that I understood without talking like Ash told me. He took his soup and left.

One such woman had taken her soup, pulled up a chair and plopped down right next to me. She was loudly slurping away at it as Ash worked with another customer. Her weathered skin told a story, a lifetime of hardships evident in her short, hunched over stature. Her hair was a very unnatural shade of crimson; I'm assuming she dyed it to cover the grey. She regarded me with a mischievous look. She stared so intently I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Did she recognize me? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Would they kill me if someone recognized me, or did that mean I would be found sooner?

"You're a pretty thing, belong to Ash?" I remember Ash's instructions and pull my hood further over my head hoping she would get the message and leave me alone.

"None of that bashful crap, you can talk to old Agatha," She's crude and persistent. I don't think she's going to simply walk away.

"He told me I can't," I whisper it to her, hoping Ash didn't overhear.

"Who Ash? What're you afraid of him or something?" I just look at her, my silence saying everything. She laughs a very loud and grating cackle.

"There's no reason to fear. Ash would never hurt anyone unless he felt he had no choice," she slurps her soup once more, shaking her head at my ludicrous behavior.

"Yes, I'm with Ash." I'm hoping if I speak quietly to her she will quiet down, match my tone. I count it a small blessing that a whole group had come in, friends apparently, the lot of them taking up Ash's time and attention. We sit there watching him for awhile before she speaks again.

"He doesn't belong on the streets you know. His too good, too pure for this place," there's sorrow woven into the statement, the normally crude manner that she speaks in all but gone. She shakes her head, emphasizing how wrong she thinks it all is.

"Why do you think that?" I'm curious at what he could possibly do that makes her feel that way. He sells her drugs, maybe she's attached to him because of it?

"I'd be dead by now if it weren't for that boy," she states it casually, factually. "I'd have starved a long time ago if he didn't bring me food."

"But you just bought that! Surely you have money to eat," she can afford her fix but not food? She stares at me like I'm stupid before I figure out what the real issue is.

"How long have you been using?" We keep whispering, our conversation private. I can't help but be intrigued.

"Thirty years," she lights up again, smoke billowing from around her as she takes it in.

"So if you had to pick between food and this, you would pick this?" I wanted to hear her say it, hear her vocalize what she alluded to.

"This right here, every time," I wonder how Ash would feel if he heard her. Unconsciously my eyes fall on the soup. I have a feeling he already knows. "You get caught up in it."

"What's it feel like?" I have a hard time imagining something having such a volatile grip on me that I would sacrifice my most basic needs for it.

"You're energized, alive, every time I hit it I become a new woman, on top of the world," she slurps the soup in her other hand once more. She's being so frank with me about it. I wonder how long it takes for someone to get to the point that they become numb to the reality of something like this in their lives.

"How long does it last?"

"Few seconds," she shrugs her answer. I can feel my eyes widening. So much money, so much time and life wasted for a few seconds of pleasure? There's no way it's worth it. I can't wrap my brain around it. "You keep away from it sweetheart, don' be like old Agatha." Her comment confuses me.

"If you think it's bad enough to stay away from then why don't you quit. Have you ever tried?" I instantly regret the question. I'm getting too pushy with my questions, my curiosity making me act foolishly. I hope with every fiber that she doesn't get offended, doesn't explode. I can't imagine how angry Ash would be…

"I've stopped. Got back on it, stopped, got back on it. It's my kryptonite. It's too late for me to stop at this point, I've given away too much for it. My husband, my children, my education was a waste since I threw away a career, all of my friends, I've got nothing but my crack. Just me and my high," How incredibly sad. I can't help thinking it over and over again.

"You're too innocent doll. It's been a long time for me since I've talked with someone like you. It's refreshing. You're good for him," She starts talking away, not really waiting for me to respond, just eager to have someone listen.

"I've finally got me my own place. I've spent twenty years on the streets. Well the streets and penitentiaries. But it's mine, all mine. I got me a cat. Do you like cats? I love cats, always wanted one. Her name is Fluffers, maybe you can stop by sometime and meet her. She likes cute girls. Not too fond of men," her rambling is interrupted by Ash who placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Agatha are you needing help finding your car again?" he teases her and ducks as she takes a swing at him.

"No no Pearl's picking me up. She's missed you Ash, been whining about how you haven't been coming around," I feel an inner sigh of relief. There's no way I want this woman on the road while she's high as a kite. I didn't care if it meant I would drive her home and be forced to sit and cuddle with Fluffers, who I would be very allergic to, I would do it. I catch Ash's eyes. He's nervous, I can see it in the slant of his eyebrows. When did I get so good at reading him? I smile, trying to ease his mind. He doesn't need to worry, I haven't spilt the beans about anything.

* * *

The night continues with regular traffic coming in and out of the house. Agatha tells me about her life. She loves to talk about the days before the crack, when her ex husband and her were young and had to sneak to the drive in for make out sessions or about the time she found her twins coloring the walls with her lipstick. There's melancholy there underneath the mirth, a deep regret that I'm sure she feels but wouldn't be willing to vocalize. She made her choice. It wasn't them. I pity her.

There's a commotion in the living room. Ash is nearly knocked over, pushed back enough that when he falls he braces himself by leaning against the arm of the couch. A woman is in his arms, smothering every inch of him.

"Pearl! Glad to see you've joined the party!" Agatha calls out to the newest guest, laughing in merriment as she hobbles over to the trashcan to throw away her soup bowl. I'm beyond surprised. I assumed Pearl was another elderly woman, you know with the whole short, curly hair and floral purse kinda thing. This was far from what my mind conjured.

"I missed that sweet face," She's cooing at Ash, lips puckered as she squeezes his cheeks in her hand. Her clothes leave nothing to the imagination while her heels seem to go a mile high. She'd be stunning if she didn't have so much makeup on. If I didn't know better I'd say this was a prostitute. I freeze as the full implications of it hit me. I don't understand the fury I feel as she paws at Ash. Just how does he know her?!

"Hey Pearl, where you been hiding?" He grabs her waist pushing her gently away and stands up straight. Agatha limps over to the two, ranting about rude young people who make their elders wait. I feel like an outsider to a party that I don't really want to be a part of but feel upset to not be included in.

"I think it's _you_ who's been avoiding _me,"_ she pokes his nose, smacking her gum and all but undressing him with her eyes. It's revolting to me. Someone walks into the house interrupting their small reunion. Pearl notices me in the corner. I turn my head away. I have no interest in talking to her. She doesn't take the hint, her heels clicking loudly as she marches straight to me and takes up Agatha's previous seat.

"My names Pearl! Who're you? Are you a friend of Ash? Do you want to be friends?" I'm dumbfounded as she bombards me with twenty questions. I never a get a chance to answer before she chatters on and on about other things from split ends to world hunger. It's overwhelming how fast she changes topics.

"You're a sweet girl, good listener, I like you! Let's go shopping sometime," I don't understand all of these people wanting to be my friend all of a sudden. My initial response is distrustful, assuming they want something from me, before the realization that they have no clue who I am hits me. "We've got to get you out of that outfit. There's no excuse for someone like you to be hiding behind baggy drab. Flaunt it girl!" She roughly shoves me in the shoulder good naturedly. At first I thought she was too clingy, too trusting, too **loud** but as she talks I begin to change my view. I think she's intimidated. It's almost like her prattling is a nervous tick. It was probably stupid, but I lay my hand on her arm, silencing her story. Agatha watches us closely, intrigued by the exchange.

"Relax, I promise I don't bite," She smiles as I say it, tears filling her eyes. How many people normally dismiss her by this time? I finally look at her, really look at her. She looks so young behind all the makeup. I'm horrified as the question of whether or not she is even a legal adult haunts me.

"You're lucky you know?" She says it like it's painful for her to admit. My heart rate spikes rapidly. Surely she is saying that because she knows who I am. Would she threaten me? Demand for money? What would Ash do?

"He's completely head over heels for you," I choke on my spit, coughing and struggling to recover. The room quiets down, everyone looking at me. I pull the brim of my hat further over my face and try to shrink as much as possible. Agatha's grating laugh shatters the silence as she mocks me for being bashful again. Ash makes a lame comment, laughs too loudly, and tries to get the ball rolling with his clients again. It doesn't take much for him to captivate them once more.

"Are you crazy?" I ask her. Where did that even come from?

"It's obvious. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he keeps looking at you. That look of longing. You've got him wrapped around your finger." I have no clue what she's talking about. There's nothing between me and Ash. The only thing he sees when he looks at me is a paycheck. I feel a twinge of guilt thinking that. There's that tension inside me again, the one that can't seem to agree on how to feel about the young man. My face must betray my thoughts about the ridiculousness of it because she continues, "My livelihood depends on my ability to read men. They're predictable creatures really. I know that look, I work hard to create that look and it's childish for you to ignore the signs. Snatch him while you can. Men like Ash are few and far between." There's that sad wistfulness again, the one that says this conversation is hard for her.

"How do you know Ash? Are you a client of his?" I'm curious about their connection, why it is that she feels so strongly about it. I hope with every fiber of my being that _he_ isn't a client of _hers_.

"We met a year ago. I had run away from home, found myself out here knowing no one and with nowhere to go. A man offered me money one night to do, well you know, and I realized that I could make enough cash to get me on my feet that way. I had only been working the streets a week when a meet up in an ally went wrong. When we got done I demanded my money as promised. The John attacked me instead. He had his hands wrapped around my throat. I knew I was going to die that day. I did my best to scream for help but nobody came, I could see them there across the street and they never came. I blacked out. When I woke up the man was gone. Ash had me here, on that couch, a bag of McDonald's waiting for me in the kitchen. He rescued me. The world doesn't care about prostitutes, we're disposable. Anybody can do what they want to us, they don't care. The cops sure don't. But that man in there saved me. I'll never forget it. I think of him when I lose faith in people, in men, he helps me believe that there are still good folks out there."

"You love him don't you?" The way she looks at him says it all, like he's her hero.

"I could. I don't know him well enough to say. I've tried, believe me I've tried. I keep hoping that he will suddenly want me, love me, that he'll rescue me from this life. Maybe we'd run away to another state, start a family, be happy. He won't open up to me though. Ash is very good at making people feel special but he never looks to anyone else to do the same for him," she wipes the tears from her eyes, the trauma of her memories getting to her and smearing her makeup. I reach over and wipe the mascara lines away with my sweatshirt, smiling at her when she whimpers.

The moment is broken when Ash slams the lock box shut, whooping and hollering way too loudly as he shoves it back into the cabinet. He practically prances over to us, flipping a chair backwards and taking a seat. He notices Pearl's watery eyes but doesn't say anything. It makes me wonder how common crying is for this crowd when it doesn't even surprise them.

"Guess who's already sold everything?" He is bouncing in his seat, happy. If by sold everything he means it's time to go then I'm relieved. I can't wait to get out of this house, out of this environment.

"Pfft, the party ain't over til I leave," Agatha is attacked by phlegmy coughs after the sassy comment, causing all of us to laugh and making her cranky. She starts getting agitated, grabbing a chair and slamming it down. The laughter dies down. Pearl rises, walking towards the front door and beckoning the elderly woman to follow her.

"I think that would be our cue to leave. Thanks for watching over her Ash," he jumps up at her words, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the canvas bag, handing it to her and telling her to give the rest of the soup to Agatha. Pearl looks over his shoulder at me before looking back at Ash, asking him if he would be willing to help Agatha to the car and reminding him that the old woman would be angry if he didn't tell her himself about his generous offer. He walks out expecting the girl to follow him. Instead she runs straight towards me, throwing herself into my arms. I tense until I realize that she is hugging me not hurting me.

"Thank you for being nice so me. It's so rare, you have no idea how wonderful it feels to be treated like a person," she whispers it to me crying once again.

"You'd be surprised how much I understand," I hug her back, feeling a small amount of affection for the girl. My heart breaks as I think about her life, what the days and weeks look like for her. How empty her future must seem to her. She pulls away pawing at her tears before reaching into her purse and pulling something out, leaving it on the table in front of me.

"If Ash is going to be with anyone I'm glad it's someone like you. Take this, I have a feeling you'll need it. My gift to you," She gives me her broken smile once more before walking out of the house. I look at her present wondering what she left me.

Oh. My. God.

I grab it faster than the speed of light before Ash comes in and catches sight of it, my face burning so badly with a blush it almost hurts.

A condom. She left me a condom.

* * *

The car is completely silent as we make our way from the paved street onto the gravel road. Ash hasn't said a word since the women left. He had freed me from the chair and locked up the house in silent, robotic motions. His eyes look dead, like he's not even there.

"Are you mad at me?" I wonder if he's still angry at me, maybe he was giving me the silent treatment. Maybe he wanted to distance himself from me.

"No, I'm not mad at you," is the only answer he gives me. I bite my lip trying to figure out why he's in the funk he's in. Why should I care if he's unhappy? I repeat the statement in my mind over and over again. It doesn't reach my heart. The reality is that I do care.

"What's wrong?" I finally ask him, remembering Pearl's words about Ash not opening up with people. Would he open up with me? I learned early in life to not trust anyone, to take your true feelings and bury them as deep inside as you can. You protect yourself. I've shared more with this one man than I had with anyone else. At least about the things that torture me.

"I-I- I feel…" He's trembling, his hands giving him away as he moves to grip the steering wheel tighter in an effort to still them.

"Pull over," I ask in what I hope is a soothing tone.

"What, why?"

"Pull over," I say it more forcefully this time. He pulls off to the side of the gravel road, putting the car in park and looks at me confused. I reach over and turn the key, killing the engine. The alarm that warns about the lights being on goes off, annoying and abrasive, before Ash reaches over and kills the glow. It's darkness all around us, the crickets singing their song as the wind rustles leaves soothingly outside. It's early in the morning, I take a moment to realize that the sun will be rising soon before turning to the young man next to me. I take off the hat and glasses, excited to be free of them.

"Now tell me what's bothering you," I want him to open up to me, to share. I choke the voice in my mind telling me how stupid I'm being, to not trust him and to see if I can get this car door open and take off down the road.

"I feel like a murderer," his voice is low, gruff and barely loud enough to hear.

"Why?" I match his tone, scared of the words he's saying.

"How could I not doing what I did tonight? I'm helping these people destroy their lives, destroy themselves and their families. I can't help wondering what happens after they leave that house. What if someone dies from the batch I gave them? Any one of those people could be dead at this very moment, their blood would be on my hands! How many of those women that walked in are being raped because they're too high to think straight and have been preyed on because of that? How many of those men are going home and beating their children senseless because they're so fucked up they can't control the emotions that change on the drop of a dime? I'm bringing chaos, I'm killing souls, I'm –"

"Shhhhh," I scoop him up in my arms, pulling him as close as I can. I press his face into the space between my neck and shoulder holding him to me and running a hand through his hair after taking off his hat. I rock him back and forth remembering that he always does that for me when he wanted to calm me down.

"I was actually impressed with you tonight," I'm being honest with him. If you told me I thought that a drug dealer could be a good person a month ago I would have laughed in your face, called you delusional.

"How?" He chokes it, biting back emotions. He's still shaking, his hands laying in his lap as he tries to distance himself from my embrace.

"If you asked me what I thought of when I think of drug dealers I would have told you someone who was selfish, a raging addict who destroyed everything in his path for his own gain. I would have pictured a violent man, a man incapable of really loving anything or anyone but himself," he flinched at my words as if he had been burned and started pulling away. I hold onto him tighter and press myself closer. "That's not what I saw tonight. I saw a man who looked at these people with compassion, a man who would give anything in his means to help them. You feed these people who are choosing starvation in order to fuel their addictions, you save them when the world has given up on them, deemed them unsavable, worthless. You care. I remember you saying that you do things that make you die inside bit by bit. I saw that tonight, I saw a man with the biggest heart in the world being tortured by the things he was doing. I saw someone who is trapped, someone whose hands are bound to a fate he doesn't want," I start to cry as I think about it. His life is horrible. Torturous. So completely not what he deserves.

He wraps his arms around me, tentatively at first, before he holds me with a fierceness that almost knocks the wind out of me. That carefully crafted dam of emotions bursts as he cries on me. His wails say it all, they speak of his pain, of his regret, that he lives a life he feels is a mistake. I cling to him just as tightly trying my best to soothe his demons. How do you mend the heart of someone who is broken by everything he can't escape?

I don't know.


	6. Confusion and Comfort

Author's Note: So this might sound like a silly thing to bring up but I wanted to explain myself. I know that really the only Pokémon characters to extensively appear in this story are Ash and Misty, a couple others have had some mentions but not anything major. I have no attachment to any OC's I've made, my reason for it is the nature of this story. A lot of these characters are shady or have stigmas attached to them. I was worried because of that that if I used canon characters in those roles people would be massively offended or accuse me of bashing. I will use two characters I love for example. What if I had made Gary do Nathan's part and May do Pearl's? I don't think things would have gone well for me… even though my intent would have in no way been derogatory. So I'm sorry, I am trying to include other characters where I can.

Now it's time to give my thanks to my reviewers Jemzyboz, Nelly92, SargetheMan and EliXiR2722! I literally smiled when I read each of your reviews. This story is so far out of my comfort zone and I don't know if people are actually liking it or not, so to hear feedback from you is so helpful and encouraging to me. Plus it always makes my day :) Y'all are the best!

Also thank you Nelly92 for helping me get the ball rolling on this chapter. You were a big help!

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.

* * *

**Snatched**

Chapter 6

Confusion and Comfort

_Misty's Point of View_

The sun was peaking over the horizon casting its orange glow on the world as it heralded the start of a new day. I didn't give its golden beauty a single glance. My breath was caught in my throat as I gazed at the young man in front of me. We were still close, much too close, as he rested his forehead against mine. His watery eyes never strayed from mine, a ghost of a smile taking up residency on his tear stained face. His eyes glowed amber in the morning light as he looked at me with so much adoration and hope that it enthralled me, almost as if I was his lifeline in this very moment. Right now, right here there were no drugs, no money and fame or threats of violence. It was just us. Just Ash and Misty.

I can't handle the burning look he's giving me so I turn my attention to his tear stained face, moving my hands from his hair to wipe the wetness away. He leans into my touch, that ghost of a smile brokenly spreading across his face. He's so unbearably breathtaking. When I first met Ash I had assumed he was trying to use his appearance to manipulate me, now I'm not even sure he is aware of just how striking he truly is.

The tears finally seemed to stop as he moved to nudge his nose with mine, a shaky breath escaping him and grazing my lips. Everything in me says I should pull away but I can't bring myself to try. My lips are already tingling in hope and anticipation, eager to know the feeling of his warm ones over mine. Ash Ketchum is going to be the death of me. I can't decide whether I like it or not. Why am I giving in to this moment, to him, what do I possibly have to gain from this? I should stop this before it gets out of control. I know it will lead to nothing but me being hurt in the end. It always does.

I can't say no to him.

I reflect on all the bad Ash has brought into my life. He is my enemy. And yet the overwhelming goodness of him seems to overshadow all of it. I think about the meals he keeps feeding me that are so good and always more than I can handle, the way he tries to protect me despite our circumstances, of how he gives and cares for everyone around him even those that make his life hell, how he makes me laugh and smile, and, most importantly, how he treats me like I _matter_. Like I'm special and wonderful. He makes me feel that for once in my life I mean something to someone, not as an icon but as a person, even if he doesn't really know me that well. And yet I feel like he knows me better than anyone ever has.

Ash tightly squeezed his eyes closed while hitching his breath. Suddenly he started to pull away from me. I slide my hands from his cheeks down to his neck, halting his retreat. I can't stop myself from moving my fingers into his hair, playing with the strands along his nape. This man has captivated me in the most dangerous of ways. I can feel him tensing around me as I lean back in invading the space he had created between us.

"Shhhh relax," I whisper it against his lips, feeling him trembling beneath me as his breathing becomes increasingly labored. He is so tempting, so agonizingly tempting.

I don't give him time to respond as I capture his mouth with my own. His lips are just like the rest of him, warm and gentle and so incredibly _right_. The repercussions and reasons for why this is wrong fly from my mind. I'm intoxicated by this, by him. There's this force between us pulling us together. I'm powerless to stop it.

He responds back with equal fervor, my heart pounding so hard I fear he can hear it. I'm lightheaded, overwhelmed by everything that is Ash, as I feel the tingle of his kiss spread everywhere through me. I can't explain it in words, this effect he has on me, only that I have never felt this with any other man before. I steady my mouth on his for a few moments, soaking in the sensation, before I pull away from him. It felt like a lot more than a small, innocent kiss.

My lips are slightly damp from the lingering moisture from his own lips, a fire still burning on my mouth from the feel of his kiss. I can't bring myself to open my eyes, to look at him, as the reality of my actions starts to sink in. Did he even want me to do that? What if he didn't like it? What if the kiss didn't affect him like it had me? All Ash had sought was my comfort, he wasn't asking for my affection. I was supposed to be helping him.

My nervous breathing was the only noise in the car. The seconds seem to be dragging on as worry started clawing at my mind. Thousands of negative what ifs invade my thoughts as I pull away from him, still refusing to open my eyes. I can't bear to see the look on his face.

He stops my withdrawal with his hands, threading them into my hair and drawing me back to him. A shiver runs down my back beginning where his fingertips brush my scalp and overwhelming my senses. Every small touch fuels this out of control need for him.

Without warning his mouth is on mine again, a moan escaping me before I can stop it, as he sensually brushes his lips against mine own. He grips my hair tighter, trying desperately to pull me closer. It's different this time. I had kissed him quickly just wanting to know the feel of him. This was a series of lingering kisses, firmer and hungrier. It was like he was memorizing the feel of his lips on mine. His mouth moved fluidly over mine, effortlessly drawing these sensations out of me.

His mouth leaves mine much too soon. I whimper as he starts running his fingers through my hair, I don't want this moment to end. He once again leans his forehead against my own, quiet as he stares. The look he gives me causes me to tremble. Without warning he grabs the hood of my sweatshirt and throws it over my head, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and drawing me into his chest. I'm confused until I hear the car blaze past us kicking up dirt as it goes down the gravel road. I never even heard it coming. Reality pours over me like a bucket of ice water. What was I doing? I push out of his arms, reaching over and turning the car back on.

"We need to go, Nathan will be waking up soon." I mutter it to him, drawing as far away as I can. For once Ash's eyes are not readable, a guarded expression taking up residency. What was he thinking? Did he regret it? Did I? Was he disappointed in my kisses or in my reaction? What were we even doing?

"You're right," is all he says as he moves back into his seat, putting the car into drive.

The uncomfortable hush is suffocating. I don't understand my actions. I've had boyfriends in the past, models and actors and other beautiful faces that women desire. They were the best fit for me at the time, convenient, a relationship that would further my career and theirs as well. They were nice and even fun to kiss. But never had they made me feel an ounce of this burning desire that I got from one small kiss from the young man next to me.

I'm so confused. Ash and I could never be, should never be. I can already hear all the things the counselors would say to me if I told them my conflicted feelings for my kidnapper. It's wrong. I can't trust him. I can't! What am I supposed to do now?

I have no idea.

* * *

When the long, awkward silence became unbearable I turned on the radio, hoping some noise would cause us both to relax. The sounds of Beethoven's _Abscheulicher _blared over the speaker system. I snort in an effort to repress my laugh causing Ash to dissolve into a series of guffaws. Pudge and Nathan listen to this? The tension eases as we fall back into a lighthearted banter. Things are always so easy with Ash, natural, almost as if we were always meant to be connected in some way. He seemed to be in a much better mood, there was a small smile on his face and he was talking to me again. We pull into the driveway as he tells me a story of when he was a young boy and shaved off one of his eyebrows. He wanted so badly to be grown up like his dad so he tried to shave that morning. A year later he pulled the same stunt again, shaving both of them off when he thought no one was looking. I bet he was an adorable kid. I could picture him in my mind all chubby cheeked with big brown eyes and an insatiable curiosity about everything. I bet his mother loved him dearly. I wanted to ask him where she was, but didn't dare broach the subject, not when he was finally in a more stable mood.

His laughter instantly stopped, a chilling silence snuffing out the happy sound. I looked to see what he was reacting to. A truck. There was a truck in the driveway.

"Ash?" He's not moving, was so still you could hardly tell he was breathing, as he fixates on the thing.

"My dad. That's my truck. He's back," is his simple answer. It takes me a moment to realize why he was suddenly afraid. It was because of me. I wasn't supposed to be here with Ash laughing and sharing memories. I was supposed to be in that house, tied to a bed and fearing for my life. I reach into the back seat, a plan already formulating in my mind.

"Don't worry, I have an idea," I drape the handcuffs over his thigh and lean in, whispering into his ear a plan that I hope will get us into that house suspicion free. When I'm finished I turn my back to him, bringing my arms behind me. He cuffs my hands together murmuring how sorry he is as he does it. Who would have thought that I would be asking to be bound and trying to sneak back into the house of my captors? It's messed up, I'm clearly losing my mind. No, it's because of him. Because of Ash.

* * *

I'm shoved into the living room with enough force that it knocks me to the ground, stinging my knees. I lay there a moment, stunned. Everyone in the room is staring at me as Ash breathes harshly in the background, fists clenching and unclenching as though he is enraged. I notice Nathan is also on the ground. There was blood dripping from his nose, it contrasted darkly with the bright lipstick that clung obstinately to him. Dark, angry bruising was surfacing on his face. The look he was giving me was ominous, sinister, one of pure hatred. I had never been subjected to such an expression.

Ash grabbed me roughly around my arm, hauling me up and shaking me as he demanded to know what the heck I was doing. Charles was in the room, watching his son closely, jaw tightening spastically. His knuckles had blood dripping down them in intricate rivulets. I seriously doubt it's his.

"Where the hell was she?" He is roaring. Everything about this man terrifies me. Everything.

"I found her on the road as I was pulling in. Don't ask me how she got there, I grabbed her when I saw her and brought her back," If I didn't know better I would sincerely think Ash was livid with me. He shakes me harshly as he talks. It's the only thing that clues me into his nervousness. He has never been this rough with me, I don't think he would be if he was thinking about anything other than getting us out of this unharmed.

Charles marches to us swiftly, snatching the collar of my sweatshirt and pulling me close. His tone is venomous, eyes glassy and bloodshot, as he leans closer to me, looming over me. I feel small compared to him, petrified. I knew I would have collapsed if it weren't for him holding me up. "How the hell did you get out?" I close my eyes to gather my thoughts. I need to calm down. "Answer me!" He shakes me viciously, enraged by my lack of response.

"After Ash left Nathan came into the room. He wanted my attention. Promised to untie me in exchange for sex. I-I told him I wanted food involved. I slipped a sleeping pill in, knocked him out." I'm sweating so badly at this point, my voice quivering as I tried to focus on my story of the events that had happened that night.

"What the fuck! That didn't happen, it was Ash! That son of a-" Charles threw me into Nathan interrupting his tirade. The force of it knocked the wind out of me as we both hit the wall. I scrambled, trying to get off the man while fighting to regain my breath. Charles picked me up by my arms shoving me once more into the staircase. I laid there on the steps, hoping if I stayed down he would leave me alone, find a new target. The man bent low, trapping me beneath him, rendering me utterly powerless. He wrapped one hand around my neck, forcing me to stare into his eyes and slowly snuffing the air out of me.

"Run one more time cupcake and I swear I will enjoy watching the life slowly leak out of your eyes. Understand?" He got up returning to Nathan as I laid there gasping. "Ash, take her upstairs," is all he said as he towered over his new victim.

Ash practically ran to me after slapping the cash from the night on the kitchen counter, trying to help me up as I struggled to find the strength in my legs once again. "Don't touch me! I can take care of myself," I growl it at him knowing that the others were still there, still listening, as we hobbled up the stairs and into the room.

I could hear Nathan's squeaky whimpers as we ascended, begging Charles to listen to him, pleading. It fell on deaf ears.

* * *

"Oh my god Misty I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I-" Ash had collapsed as soon as we got to his room, throwing his arms around my legs and burying his face into my stomach. I still felt disoriented from being tossed around so much. It took me a moment to register the endless stream of apologies coming from him.

"Shut up Ash," It comes out tenderly. I don't understand why he is accepting blame. "Stop apologizing."

"I wanted to stop him, step in. But you told me not to, the plan was for me to be angry right? Oh god he wasn't supposed to grab you like that," he's babbling. I sigh, trying to figure out a way to get a hold of the situation. Why does he feel responsible for his father's actions?

"Can you untie me please?" I interrupt him. I don't want to think about any of this, I just want out of these handcuffs and to crawl into bed. It had been a long, emotionally draining night. He jumps up quickly to remove the restraints, muttering angry profanities towards his father. I turn to go to my suitcase and grab some pajamas, kicking his dirty clothes out my way in an effort to clear a path to my stuff. Ash seemed to be thinking along the same lines as me since he was under his bed digging around in the tubs.

"You stay here, I'll change in the bathroom," he instructed as he shuffled out the door with his clothes to give me some privacy. I can't seem to still my hands as I lift my shirt up over my head. I can hear Nathan's screams downstairs. They bounce off the walls, filling every nook and cranny of the old place. I know they'll haunt me from this point on. I feel guilty, I never intended for him to get hurt. I don't like the man but I had no idea that Charles would react so violently to him. It makes me wonder how he treats Ash.

I waste no time diving into bed, curling up on my side and doing my best to burrow into the old blankets, hoping that they would provide some barrier between me and the sounds coming up from downstairs. Ash joins me soon after, crawling in after me and poking my shoulder, trying to get my attention. I roll over and look at him, grimacing. This place is a nightmare. He seems to read my mind again as he rests his head near my ear, humming a tune to drown out the noise from below. His voice is terrible and off key, but the moment is so sweet that I can't help but treasure it.

"You're horrible at this," I tease, causing him to laugh and poke me again as I slap away his hands. Things finally quiet down, a stillness permeating the house as the front door slams. I relax, rolling back over and facing the wall. Ash pokes me again and asks me to sit up as he pulls out the handcuffs. I huff, throwing the blankets off both of us in my annoyance.

"I'm sorry Mist, but if my dad comes in here and doesn't find you tied up in some way he is going to flip," I loathe the cuffs but I have no desire to be the subject of his father's wrath. I slip my leg out towards him irritated that I chose to wear shorts to bed. The metal is cold, digging into my skin and overall a complete nuisance. I sink back down into the mattress, facing the wall as I look for patterns in the cracks and stains. Ash settles down behind me after pulling the blankets back over us and tucking me in. He is laying as close to me as he can without actually touching me. Heat is rolling off of him in waves tempting me to get closer.

"Just because I haven't said anything doesn't mean I approve of this little nickname of yours, it's got to stop," I say it in a yawn, catching his use of this 'Mist' term again. He chuckles, his breath hitting the back of my neck, causing a shiver to run through me as goose bumps cover my skin. I release an involuntary sigh and take a deep breath. I'm never going to get to sleep if he keeps doing that.

"Yes ma'am."

Somehow I don't think he means it.

* * *

"Ash…" I groan out his name shattering the sleepy atmosphere in the room. The late afternoon sun beat down on the house causing the floral sheet over his window to glow wherever light could break in. I kicked off the blankets at some point, the summer heat making me hot. I apparently threw them on Ash, who at this point was sweating way more than me. He had grabbed the material and chucked it off the bed, sighing in relief as he tried to fall back asleep. However his stomach seemed intent on keeping him very much awake. And me as well. I glance over my shoulder, glaring at his torso, the source of my disgruntlement. Could it not give me a few more minutes before letting off a sound that rivaled the thunder of the gods?

My leg brushes up against his as I moved igniting a flurry of sensations. This man was dangerous for so many reasons, reasons that had nothing to do with my safety. I try frantically to remember that I can't trust him. Yet I'm absorbed by the fact that his breathing sped up with the contact. Briefly I wonder why he leaves his shirt on, he's sweating through it. On the other hand I'm grateful that he left it on. I am not in the right state of mind to handle a half naked Ash. He didn't bother to lean back as I rolled over to face him. We are so close, too close. Despite the fact that we aren't touching it feels incredibly intimate.

I'm terrified as I realize that I _want_ more, that I _need_ to feel closer to him.

"Guess that's our cue to get up, let's go feed that bottomless pit of yours," my words don't seem to reach him at all. His eyes are darker than normal. In them was an expression of raw hunger and deep yearning that he was not bothering to hide. It causes that crazed thrill to burn hotter inside of me, the one that is telling me to reach out and touch him. We are treading very dangerous grounds. Pearl's words about glances and longing echo in my brain.

So I shove him hard trying to break the moment, forcing him off the bed and hopefully towards the kitchen. He flies off in a pile of flailing limbs and unmanly squeals, caught off guard by my actions, and takes me down with him. I had stupidly forgotten that we were cuffed together in my need to put some distance between us. We both scramble on the floor, trying to get up off each other while untangling ourselves from the bedding. A few mishaps and slaps later I finally manage to get away, nursing my aching nose. Ash is rubbing the back of his head while glaring at me. I pointedly ignore it.

"Why the heck did you do that?" He's huffing at me, agitated.

"You weren't moving!" Is the only answer I'm willing to give him. "Now uncuff me. I'm hungry and you're going to feed me." Ok so I'm being bratty. If I can make him mad maybe he will stop being so, so… I can't even put into words what Ash is doing to me. He just rolls his eyes and fishes around for his jeans, finally finding them and pulling the key out.

He gets up after freeing me, lifting his shirt and scratching his stomach as he heads to the door, drawing fascinated eyes to the small patch of skin that can be seen. He turns before leaving, a sarcastic smirk on his face.

"Anything else I can get for you Princess Misty? Perhaps you want me to carry you down the stairs or fluff your pillows? Is our carton of orange juice alright for drinking or do you want fresh squeezed instead?" I grab his pillow and chuck it at him, but he escapes down the hall before it makes contact, his laughter filling the dreary place up with light.


	7. Every Reason to Lie

Author's Note: I owe you guys the biggest apology for taking so long to update this story. I don't really have a viable excuse. Between two jobs, college, friends and getting into a new relationship my writing has just kinda fallen on the back burner. I'm sorry :( There's not much time left in the semester though, only a little over a month, then I will be completely free to dedicate time to writing. Hopefully I get in more than just this one chapter up between now and then. I've already got half of the next chapter written so the it looks very promising that you will get another update real soon!

I want to give a special thanks to Jemzyboz, EliXiR2722, Suko, MilkywayScribbles, Seddiepokeeverlark95, petites sorcieres, Nelly92 and Ghfux for leaving me such encouraging and kind feedback in your reviews. I treasure all of your words and it really does motivate and encourage me to write more. Thanks for taking the time to do that :) Also thank you to each and every one of you who sent me PM's, your messages were very encouraging as well!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon but I can see where one might get the impression that I do.

* * *

**Snatched**

Chapter 7

Every Reason to Lie

_Ash's Point of View_

The kitchen looked the way it always did, the sight of it igniting a flurry of frustrated thoughts in my mind. I spent hours scrubbing the place and in one day it had returned to the way it had always been. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. On the stove almost every burner held a pot or skillet with the remnants of some type of food stuck to the bottom. The newly emptied ashtrays were once more overflowing while beer cans littered the countertop. Trash was strewn about, left behind to be forgotten rather then placed in our empty garbage can.

I feel this massive desire to clean the place. When had I become such a housewife? It wasn't lost on me that I was down here muttering about keeping a clean house and preparing meals for someone special upstairs. My hand froze as I began to get lost in thoughts about the redhead. Caresses with soft lips capture my imagination. The feel of her was addicting. I was in that car again, my breath caught in my throat as she slowly moves in closer. For the first time in my life I allow myself to hold a small glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, someone could want me.

She kissed me first.

The reality of it causes the most delicious shiver to pass through me.

A boisterous clamor coming from the slamming front door interrupts my thoughts. I shut the refrigerator door before pivoting. I already know it's my father, I'd recognize the sound of his footsteps anywhere. I walk out to meet him and freeze once again. The chill that passes through me this time is far from pleasant.

Blood splattered the walls, taunting and threatening as it keeps its violent secret out in plain sight. Nathan's blood. Pools of it soak into the hardwood, staining it to the point that it will never come out, a glaring reminder of the type of evil that lives in this house.

"Hey," my voice sounds awkward, as though I'm trying too hard to sound casual.

"Where'd you go?" My father ignores my question as he ambles into the kitchen, placing something on the counter before continuing his journey to the refrigerator. Towards more beer.

"Took me awhile but I got the phone. Untraceable. Her folks should be back by tomorrow. Get her." He tips his head back to guzzle the alcohol, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Unconsciously I look away, my gaze landing on the dripping trails and puddles of blood. I feel my gut twist at the sight of it. I don't want to drag Misty down here, not with him. I feel that same panic I felt when I saw her laying on the staircase, my father's hand around her neck and terror on her face. Everything in me had screamed to stop this, to rip him off her, to protect her. She made me promise though, I wasn't allowed to interfere, to throw off the plan.

I want to keep her safe.

"You know I've been thinking, we could just let her go without asking for the money. Tell her to keep her mouth shut or else. And if the cops happened to figure out who we were or that she had even been missing then we can tell them the truth, it was a mistake. Hell no one knows she's missing yet, it would be – "

The blow to my gut came out of nowhere, dropping me to the floor and trapping the air somewhere deep inside me. I hunch over, mouth opened wide and desperate to breathe. Nothing came in and nothing came out. The room began to spin and time seemed to slow. Charles boots suddenly filled my vision, the scuffs on the tips beaming up at me with a queer kind of clarity.

The air finally came rushing back in. It hurt just as much as when it hadn't been there at all.

"Like that's such a great idea dumb ass," Charles leaned over me, shouting. "You really think they're going to overlook what we've done?" Every word he screamed dotted my face with his spit, his breath foul and eyes bloodshot. I didn't dare move to wipe it off. "That whore could be our ticket to easy street. By Christmas I want to be on a beach, somewhere warm, drink in my hand. And now it could actually happen, but only if we play our cards right."

I sit up, turning my head to rest my cheek against my bent knee and to avoid getting showered with his spittle.

"Sure, you fucked up once again when you didn't notice the girl was home. But now that could be the best thing to ever happen to us. Go get her. Now. I want that phone number so I can talk to her fat-cat dad about making us millionaires."

I feel defeated. I just learned, yet again, that it wasn't worth talking back to my father. That it was impossible to win against him. That I'm forever imprisoned by my own flesh and blood. I rub my face to clear my thoughts before standing and heading up the stairs. I can hear the sound of another can being popped open on my way up.

* * *

Misty's face was wiped clean of all expression as she blankly stared at my father. Charles almost appeared comical as he held the massive, clunky cell phone in his hands and looked at her expectantly. "Alright cupcake, what's your home phone number?"

Misty began to recite it in a dead voice. "Nine one six –"

"Hold on hold on," my father bellowed as he scrambled for something to write on. He grabbed an old receipt and a pen held together by tape. I watched him questioning why he didn't just punch the number into the phone. He must have caught my expression. "In case I have to call again. Alright go on."

"Nine one six, five five five, zero one one five."

Charles looked as giddy as a school girl with a new crush. It was disturbing. His hum was grating and off key as he punched the number into the phone. I walk to the sink to pour Misty a glass of water, anything to break the dead look on her face as she continued to stare at my father unblinkingly. I bump her with my shoulder before handing her the glass, her smile radiant as she is turned her focus on me and accepted the drink. I bump into her again, pretending it was an accident, trying to get her to spill the liquid down her chin as she drinks. I'm rewarded with a scolding and a glare and can't resist the urge to smile like a moron. My father's humming suddenly stopped. Someone must have answered. I watched his expression carefully, looking for cues, knowing that whatever was said could either go great for us or wind up putting Misty a lot of danger.

"Hello Mr. Waterflower, yes, no I'm looking for you. Shut the fuck up, listen," Charles was barking, his grip on the pen tight. "I've got your girl. Misty. Didn't know she came home early did ya bitch? I'm willing to make you an offer, a once in a lifetime deal. You give me money, and I'll give her back. Simple trade."

His frown began to deepen as his eyes narrowed, angry. "You want proof? I'll give you your fucking proof!" He suddenly reached out, grabbing the back of Misty's hair and twisting while shoving the phone in her face. She cried out as she dropped her glass. "Don't saying anything stupid," Charles growled as he glared at her, releasing her as he shoved the phone into her hands.

"Daddy?" Her face suddenly changed, melting into an expression that made her seem so young, like a little girl. "Daddy?" She bit her lip in response to his answer, thinking. "I see. I'm okay, but –"

"Enough!," Charles bellowed as he yanked the phone from her grasp and brought it to his ear. "I'm sure you got that taped asshole. Run it through your computers, get it scanned or have her parents listen to verify that it's really her. They'll confirm I'm telling the truth. You make sure to pass along that we need five million dollars. Or you're gonna get her back in pieces, one piece for every million I'm denied!"

My mouth fell open at the price. Five million dollars?! Why didn't he ask for the moon while he was at it! Five million is impossible. Even if it was all in hundreds that would still be, I have to stop and think about it, it would be fifty thousand bills. We would need a forklift for it.

"We'll be in touch I'm sure," my father's tone in sickeningly sweet, jovial even. He clicks the phone off and sets it on the counter, grinning at me like a mad man. His anger seemed to have evaporated. After nineteen years with the man I've learned that looks can be deceiving.

"That wasn't even my father you talked to," Misty is looking at him, her expression neutral once more. "Do you know that? Are you sober? That wasn't even my dad." Her voice breaks at the last word, the only indicator of the turmoil she is feeling.

Charles just shrugged, his hand reaching out for his forgotten beer. "It was probably a secretary. I'm sure she is running the call to the cops, they'll be tracing it within thirty minutes. That's why I hung up, just to be on the safe side." He takes a long gulp, alcohol dribbling down his chin before he swipes at it with the back of his hand. "Next time I call I'll tell 'em to put the money into a bag and drop it off someplace nobody's watching. Pudge will make sure ain't nobody following. After the money is dropped Nathan will check it out to make sure there ain't no tracking device or dye on the bills. Then we'll let you go cupcake. We'll tell dear ole dad where to find ya."

Misty simply nodded, every inch of her expression conveying that she did not trust Charles. I worry that he'd hurt her, but I know he will let her go as soon as we get the money. Charles doesn't change his mind. She will be ok as long as things go according to plan and I watch out for her. I try to convince myself of this as an unsettling thought flits across my mind. Charles would eventually let Misty go, wouldn't he?

The redhead bent down to pick up her fallen glass, setting it on the counter before turning to head back up to my room. She paused for a moment, turning to face my father once more.

"By the way that wasn't my father's secretary. It was his mistress."

* * *

I wake up with a start, my breathing shallow and covered in a sweat. I focus on calming my breathing, feeling the adrenaline bleed out of me as I try to forget the memories that haunt my dreams. The air is hot and sticky making me desperate for a breeze. The glowing red light of my alarm clock beams that it's one in the morning. I lay there glaring at the stupid thing before the breathing of someone next to me draws my attention.

I roll over before levering myself up on one elbow, watching Misty. For a moment her breathing hitches before it straightens out once again. Her brow is furrowed making me wonder what she is seeing in her dreams right now. I want so badly to reach out, to smooth out the stress lines with the pads of my fingers. I wouldn't dare.

I wonder if this is what married people feel like when one of them wakes up and the other is still asleep. She looks gorgeous bathed in silver moonlight. I'm glad that I took out the cardboard and tore down the sheet otherwise I wouldn't be able to see her. I've never had a best friend before. Everything feels natural with Misty. I can be myself and share the darkest parts of my soul with her. If you had told me we would be able to relate to each other I would have scoffed, written you off as an idiot. Yet she gets me. She makes me feel like my existence is worth something to someone. I know she means so much to me, I already treasure this bond and I don't want to lose whatever this is. Her mouth looks so soft and vulnerable. Desire shoots through me as I continue to watch her, mesmerized. I keep telling myself to stop, to close my eyes and roll back over.

I can't.

There's this power she has over me that I'm incapable of fighting. It's like my captive has turned the tables, I'm now the captivated one. I do something I would never normally do, I reach out and run my calloused fingertips down her shoulder, slowly dragging them down further down along her side as the longing I feel for her begins to become consuming. My hand meets the bare skin of her hip, exposed to me from her shirt riding up. I glide my fingers over the area, biting my lip as my arm begins to tingle from the sheer pleasure of touching her. She's soft, her skin smooth and milky and beckoning me to touch more. I lay my hand flat against her hip, gently squeezing as my breathing picks up. I want her so badly. Suddenly the sexiest noise I've ever heard floated into the room, reaching me and causing me to pause. Misty had moaned. I dare not move as I study her, terrified that she was awake yet secretly hoping she was, that she had consciously reacted to my touch. She continued to breathe evenly, fast asleep and lost in her dreams.

I rip my hand away as though she had burned me, rolling over and putting as much distance between us as I could. What was I thinking?! Am I incapable of doing anything right? Misty has never given me permission to touch her like this, she wouldn't want me to! I don't do stuff like this. I growl as I flip onto my stomach and bury my face into my pillow bringing my hands up to run through my hair before gripping it as frustration kicks in. One kiss and suddenly I'm incapable of keeping myself from pawing at her. I lay there and mentally berate myself while doing my best to calm my hormones down, to not think about the beautiful woman lying next to me. Alone. Uggh! I remind myself of our situation, of reality, of the fact that Misty and I could never be together even if by some miracle she wanted to.

I'm dreading tomorrow. Will Misty's parents believe Charles threats? Would they be able to get that kind of money together? What will my father do if they can't? I feel nauseous over the last question. If I'm feeling this worried I can't imagine what Misty must be going through. I feel that need to protect her once again, not just from harm but from anything that would make her feel unhappy. I wish I could sneak away from here, take her with me and run as far away from all of this as possible.

There's no running away when you've been caught in Charles web.

I get an idea, something to distract ourselves tomorrow and hopefully put a smile on her face. I remember Misty telling me stories of her childhood, of fishing trips with her dad and how much she loved to go and that it had been years since she had been able to. I reach over setting the alarm and snuggling back down on the bed, willing myself to forget the tempting girl behind me.

There's no way I ever could.

* * *

_Misty's Point of View_

I had expected today to be the worst one of my life, but so far it had been one of the best. I woke up this morning to the alarm blaring in the most obnoxious way. After ten minutes of it going off I got frustrated and rolled over to yell at Ash to turn it off when I caught him just laying there, wide awake, grinning like a moron. I did what any sensible girl would do. I beat him senseless with my pillow. I conveniently forget the fact that it ended with me pinned under him, his fingers digging into my sides and tickling me until I was begging for mercy. No, in my mind I won this morning's battle.

We hiked along a game trail into the woods behind his house before the sun had risen, fishing gear in hand and talking idly. Ash's smile was constant and contagious making the hike to the pond seem too short. We baited our lines and waited, watching the sun rise and talking about everything.

We caught five fish so far. Ash hadn't gotten a single bite all morning and was starting to grumble. Fishing was a sport of patience, of a strategy consisting of things like your bait and timing and location. I learned very quickly that Ash and patient were not synonymous. He told me stories of this spot, of times when he would fish every day as their only source of food. Before long that led to more stories and questions as we opened up about our lives, telling everything we had gone through. He was munching on a breakfast bar when the question I had been wondering all morning popped into my mind once more. I took a deep breath and decide to go for it.

"Ash, what happened to your mom? Where is she?" He had never mentioned her. I had never found any evidence of her in the house, just a bottle of prescription pills. An antibiotic. He stopped chewing, becoming still as he stared ahead. I bit my lip, why did I ask him? He seemed to come back from his thoughts with the shake of his head before shrugging his shoulders.

"Don't know, took off when I was a baby, before I could remember her," was his simple answer as he went back to munching on his food.

"Why?" I couldn't imagine what it would be like for Ash to grow up with no mother. With only Charles.

"You met my dad, do you need more of a reason why?" was his snorted response. He had a point, I couldn't imagine any woman falling in love with Charles let alone wanting to be with him forever. I stare at Ash as he spots a salamander near the shoreline, just below the water's surface. He gets excited as he sets his rod down, making bold claims about catching it as he scoots closer to the water's edge. The image of a pudgy little boy with crazy black hair enters my mind, a little boy with a curiosity and infectious happiness that would make any mother proud. I know why his mother wouldn't want to stay with Charles, but how could she possibly leave Ash?

"But how could she leave you! What kind of a woman abandons her baby like that?" I'm beginning to feel angry, my outburst loud enough that the salamander shoots off out of Ash's reach. He begins to pout as he turns to me.

"I don't blame her. I wouldn't want to be stuck with me either. Nobody ever has." He doesn't say it in a way that is seeking pity or even looking sad. He says it like it's a fact. Like you would say the sky is blue or my hair is red. He says it so confidently that it makes me feel shattered inside. I must not be hiding my thoughts because he turns away, shrugging once more before getting up to head back to his fishing pole. I want to prove him wrong.

I spring up before he notices and run straight at him, shoving him as hard as I can straight into the water. The bottom of the pond is muddy and soft, the water not so deep where he falls in. He could stand in it, the water reaching just under his chest. He is sputtering as he surfaces, looking at me completely bewildered and trying to articulate a question. He is stupefied and stuttering but I know he wants to know why. My answer is nothing but a wicked smile before I run for him again, laughter and giddiness filling me to the brim as I hit the water and leap at him, forcing him to catch me but only managing to knock us both over.

I don't know how long we spend in that dirty pond, laughing and swimming and wrestling with each other. His hands grab me behind my knees before running up my thighs, dragging me under and closer and causing me to stop breathing for reasons other than my being brought under. His hands are calloused and strong and drive me wild. He releases his hold on me before grabbing my shoulders and shoving me down, using me to propel himself upwards. By the time I break the water's surface he is almost at the shore, in water shallow enough to stand in and chuckling in the best kind of way. He's standing there ringing out his shirt by the time I reach him.

"What was that for?" He asks, his eyes glowing with happiness and so stunning I almost forget the question.

"Because we're friends. That's what friends do, they goof off and eat too much and have water fights!" His smile melts off his face while he studies me. It's the same look he gave me in the car, the one that says that I'm adored by this man. I feel a hot blush creeping up my face at the intensity of it. I can't handle it so I look away. "I just wanted you to know that there is someone who is stuck with you and wants to be." I try to say it cheekily, like a for reals joke, but it comes out whispered and much too serious. I can't look at him, worried about his reaction.

The breeze feels cool on my wet skin, the chirping birds seeming too loud as I anticipate his answer. He says nothing. I hear the grass crunch as he moves and feel my heart plummet with each step. I raise my head to look at him, worried that he wants to just leave without another word, that I somehow offended him. Instead I catch sight of him suddenly right in front of me before being pulled into a strong embrace. His arms encircle me, completely wrapping me up in him as he draws me as close to him as I can get. Our wet clothes make us stick together, the cold water on my neck contrasting sharply with his warm breath and causing me goose bumps. He was broad, with strong muscles that were hard against my soft curves. He felt perfect. Sure we were muddy, wet and surrounded by bugs but I had never experienced anything as intimate as being close to Ash Ketchum. The thought unnerved me, causing me to pull away with a smile. His eyes were shimmering with unshed tears as he grinned at me, giggling for no reason.

"Come on, we need to get these fish cleaned if we want them for dinner tonight," I say as I head for my fishing pole, looking over my shoulder at him once more. His clothes stick to him in the most enticing way, teasing me with what lies beneath. I wonder again if he knows that he is a gorgeous man.

It's getting hot and sticky as the summer heat begins to overpower the cool morning air. Ash tells me about the time Pudge somehow managed to get stuck in the toilet as we hike back to his house. I wish I could take my muddy shirt off, the way it's sticking to me is getting uncomfortable. I blush for the second time that day, looking at Ash's back as he trudges on ahead of me. I would never do anything like that in front of him. My train of thought derails as I notice his strong back muscles under his clingy shirt. Why doesn't he take his shirt off? I'm sure he has to be just as uncomfortable. I had no idea that I had voiced these thoughts aloud until I noticed that Ash had completely stopped and repeated my question back to me. The blush before was laughable compared to this. I just wanted to melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

"I'm leaving my shirt on, ok." Is all he said before turning back around and continuing our march back. It was his tone that caught me off guard. He had been dead serious, almost guarded, as though I hit a touchy subject.

"Why?" I wasn't trying to be creepy or catch a sight of him bare chested. It was his reaction that prompted the question, made me push. He ignored me, completely quiet as we pressed on.

* * *

We eventually got back into a light conversation before reaching the house and parting ways. Ash was going to clean the fish while I showered and changed and got a load of laundry prepped, ready for it to get going as soon as he was be able to throw his muddy clothes in. I was piling more clothes into the machine when I remembered what today was. I was so caught up in Ash that I completely forgot that it was ransom day. The day that decided my fate. I finished loading the machine before letting my legs give out beneath me, my back hitting the wall. How could I be so stupid? How could I let my guard drop so low? Now more than ever I needed to be completely on top of my game. I sat in the laundry room for a long time coming up with a plan in case Charles decided to carry out his threat when I heard someone come inside. I assume its Ash and open the door hoping that maybe he can help me come up with a plan.

Nathan.

He was standing in the living room. We were alone. The look on his face was completely predatory, like a cat that caught a canary, the bruising and swelling doing nothing to hide his expression or the rage within his beady eyes. I take off as fast as I can towards the front door only to be cut off by him. I turn to head to the back when I see Pudge through the window. I'm surrounded. I turn on my heel running for Ash's room, the only one in the house with a lock. Nathan's hot on my heels, snarling and wheezing and screaming obscenities at me. I fling Ash's door open and throw myself inside. I almost get it shut before the scrawny man halts the door with his foot, putting enough force on it to fling me backwards and tumbling to the floor.

I spring back up and hurl myself at him. I try to recall everything I learned in my self defense classes. He's stronger then when I fought him in the past, his eyes glassy. Is he high? I remember Ash mentioning Nathan was also hooked on meth. He grabs my face and slams the back of my head against the bed post, screaming as I bite down as hard as I can and kick at him. We both completely still as a familiar click rings throughout the room.

The handcuffs. He grabbed the handcuffs off Ash's nightstand.

I tug at my arm to confirm that I was stuck to this bed. I'm trapped. His eyes never leave me as he backs away just far enough to pull his arm back. I brace myself for his punch, convinced that it won't hurt too badly but still slightly nervous. This was a different Nathan from what I'd seen. This wasn't the weak coward from before.

He abruptly shoves me hard instead, causing me to fall back on the bed. He climbs on the bed after me before I could react, pinning my hands against the mattress and sneering down at me. His ratty ponytail hangs over his shoulder while his greasy skin shines in the sunlight. Nathan was disgusting. I crinkle my nose at him in disgust before he spits in my face in response.

"Did you really think I was going to forget that little stunt you pulled the other night? The lipstick? Making me take the fall for your shit? What were you doing exactly, huh skank? Banging Ash out back?" His voice is full of malice. For the first time in my life I feel afraid of Nathan, something that I never thought possible. He leans down closer, his foul smell of body odor and cigarettes nearly making me gag, before whispering in my ear.

"Are you a virgin Misty? Are you? Because it's long past time for you to become a real woman. You owe me bitch. Maybe you should let Nathan give you a little loving before it's too late." I start resisting him, trying to force him off me and connecting my forehead with his nose. He reared back, grunting in pain before shoving himself fully on top of me, his voice slimier and more vicious.

"Where you're going, you won't be getting any loving at all. They never talk about sex in heaven, do they? Let good ole Nathan give you a sweet memory to take to your grave." He growls it in my ear before sticking his tongue in it, causing me to jump and cringe. I feel nauseous, every inch of him revolting to me and making my skin crawl. I am desperate to get him away from me. I gather as much saliva as I can and copy his actions from earlier, spitting in his face. He roars as he springs off of me, swiping at his face and crying out in pain from being too rough with his injuries. I leap off the bed, grabbing a pen and holding it out at him. It's my only weapon, as measly as it seems, but I will not hesitate to shove it into one of his eyeballs.

"What do you mean I'm going to heaven? Do you know something about the deal?" I doubt that Charles is sharing such sensitive information with Nathan, but I want to be sure. I feel sick as he looks at me as though he knows a dark secret that I don't.

"Do you honestly think they are going to let you go? Aren't you supposed to be a smarty pants miss college student?" He keeps his distance as though he actually fears my pen.

"Ash promised I will go home, I know I will. He would never let any of you kill me!" I'm glaring at this slimy stick figure of a man, convinced now that he knew nothing and was making irrational assumptions. He busts out laughing, the sound nasally and like an annoying series of hiccups.

"You're completely stupid girl! Ash is a part of this plan! How do you think we've managed to keep you here so easily? He flirts with you, earns your trust, gives you a good time and you are putty in our hands. You blindly trust the moron, we get money and bang we take care of our little witness problem." He's guffawing as he explains it, like a horrible joke has been played on me.

The room is spinning around me as I take in his words. How could I be so stupid? I collapse to the ground drawing my knees closer to me. I just want to curl up and disappear, get away from all of them! How could I be so stupid as to let myself trust the enemy, the very person who suggested I be kidnapped, who suggested my house be raided? He seemed so sincere, like he was truly my friend. People have been using me all my life, pretending to be my friend for their own gain, how could I not see it now?

Only this time my ignorance would cost me my life.

* * *

_Ash's Point of View_

I run through the house like a mad man not even caring that I'm dripping mud and water everywhere as I knock over trash. Where was she? The fish were sitting outside, spoiling in the summer heat. I don't care. As soon as I saw Pudge I dropped my knife. Wherever Pudge was Nathan followed. And Nathan wasn't standing there with Pudge.

He was alone with Misty.

I hear a noise in my bedroom and race up the steps, throwing my shoulder into the door and barreling in. Nathan was leaning over Misty. Her eyes were narrowed in fury and lips pulled back in a snarl like a furious dog. Her knees were drawn to her chest in an attempt to make a barrier between them. Nathan had one knee by her hip as he leaned in and both of her wrists in one of his fists, pinning her to the bed frame. He was trying to pull up Misty's shirt with the other hand.

"What the hell are you doing?" I roar as I launch myself at him, landing my fist squarely on the side of his head and sending him sprawling. He rolled onto his back, howling, his skinny ponytail having fallen out leaving his scraggly hair to stick to his neck.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Nathan!" I scream it again, barely containing the fury I'm feeling as my hands tremble with rage. I was afraid of what he might do to Misty, but I wasn't afraid in any way about what he would do to me. Nathan always knew when to put his tail between his legs and run. Right now I was so enraged I was ready to kill him.

Misty stood up and tried to make a run for the door, forgetting she was handcuffed to the bed. She cried out in pain as she was yanked back. I felt my anger spike even further. How dare he use these against her! I snatch the key and reach out to her, trying to help her back up. Instead she clawed at me, snarling and screaming to get away.

"It's me!" I plead, trying to get her to calm down, but she continued to push me away and got onto her feet without any help. She pressed herself against the foot of the bed, almost as though it was comforting, and tried to get as far away from Nathan and me as she could. She was panting, but she wasn't crying. I hear Nathan move behind me, tripping over my clothes that were scattered on the ground and cursing.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" I ask for the third time, my voice menacing.

"Just look at her, all prissy and shiny," he wheezed out, pausing when he caught sight of Pudge in the doorway. "I just wanted to take a bit of the shine off, you know? It's not fair that you get all the fun! She's so fucking rich she probably uses twenty dollar bills to wipe her ass. Pudge told me that. I was going to teach her a little lesson, show her how the other side lives. Make her never forget just who she's fucking with." Nathan was saying all of this with snot and blood dripping down his nose, coating his lips.

My hands were clenched into fists, still trembling. Everything in me wanted to hit him again. "Say that again. Just what did Pudge say?" I hear the man still in the doorway, the crunch of chips being chewed disappearing.

"He was going on about how she thinks she's so much better than us, that's why she pulled the stunt she did the other night. Getting me in trouble. He said she needed to be taken down a couple notches. Reminded of where her real place is."

"And you listened to that bullshit?" I rub my knuckles as I continue to yell at him, the swelling already beginning to show there. "Get out, before I change my mind and beat your asses."

Nathan scuttled out of there as fast as he could while continuing to trip over clothes, Pudge waddling down the stairs behind him as fast as his stubby legs could manage. I slam the door behind them, locking it, and willing myself to quench my rage. Misty needed me right now. I walk back to her, standing before her as she trembled. I wasn't sure if it was from fear or anger.

"Hey, hey it's alright. They won't bug you again. I'm sorry for leaving you alone like that, I didn't know they were coming here today. I won't let it happen again I swear." I reach out with my index finger, running the tip of it along her cheek. "I'm sorry Mist."

Her shaking intensified, and briefly I wonder if it was possible that she was afraid of me. Surely not. We are friends. I hesitantly reach out my arms before she buried her face into my chest. I hold her tight against me, rocking her back and forth, the way I did the very first time I ever held her in my arms. Trying to give her comfort. It reminded me of the only school dance I ever went to, when I was young enough that slow dancing meant you just held each other and shuffled your feet. She felt perfect against me, like she belonged there. Like she was always meant to be in my arms.

* * *

_Misty's Point of View_

We sat on the couch watching television, just trying to forget the events from that afternoon. We watched a commercial for some brand of adult diapers before Ash went on about how he didn't want to ever get old but then giggling about all the things he could get away with once he was old. Finally the show he wanted to watch started. He spent the evening talking excitedly about it, explaining the alternate universe to me and how all the characters were connected. And slowly he inched closer to me, until our arms were pressed against each other and our knees rested against one another. It normally would be fun. I would laugh along with him and be lost in this.

Instead Nathan's words from earlier hung in the air. I constantly questioned what was real and what was a lie. Everything with Ash had seemed so genuine, like he was opening up with me in a way he had never done with anyone else before. But maybe that was his game, maybe Ash was so much more than people gave him credit for. Maybe he was a master of manipulation. I suddenly was viewing every interaction we had in a whole new light.

I wasn't safe. I couldn't depend on Ash to protect me. He was the enemy.

Yet he was my friend. I couldn't shake the feeling that we had truly bonded. I had never experienced anything like this with someone. Maybe it was the selfish, foolish girl in me that wanted to believe this was real. I sat there in the dark, the only light coming from the glowing television, while Ash snored beside me and debated the legitimacy of our relationship. Whatever that relationship was.

A female reporter appeared on the television screen, interrupting my thoughts, looking somber and speaking in serious tones. At the top right corner was a little box showing a picture of me. "KWOX brings you tonight's top story about parents desperate to find their missing daughter. The home of Tristan and Rose Waterflower was ransacked approximately three days ago. Amongst the stolen items their most precious treasure, their twenty year old daughter Misty Waterflower who was home from California State University for summer break. Channel twelve spoke to the distraught parents earlier and has this heart wrenching message and appeal for their daughter's safe return."

The TV cut away to a man with a tan face and sandy blonde hair. Beside him was a stunning woman with perfect curls and long lashes. They were seated on a red leather couch, modern art pieces and plush rugs adorning the room around them. It was my living room. I panicked, wondering if it was a good idea for them to be filming there. The last thing I want is for more thieves to be encouraged to invade our home. Everything about the scene screamed money. I closed my eyes momentarily, hoping with every fiber of my being that Charles didn't see this. He would probably double his asking price. Then again he had already invaded my home, seen our things…

My father started speaking, causing me to jump. It had been over a year since I heard his voice. The sound of it instantly brought tears down my cheeks, made me ache for home and my family in a way I had never felt before.

"I will do whatever it takes to get my precious princess back," he started, face set in stone, dark circles under his eyes. It had only been a day and already my parents looked dragged through hell. "My phone is available twenty four hours a day, please call me, I beg you, if you know anything." The camera dramatically zoomed in closer to his face, focusing on his silent tears. The beachy tan and tears just didn't seem to go together. "I need my little girl home right now, I need her back. I can't imagine how terrified she is!" My father was choking up at this point. I had never seen him scared before. It made me sob. I put a hand over my mouth to quiet down and glanced at Ash. He merely twitched a finger and continued snoring.

The camera panned over to my mother who had laid a hand on my father's arm to sooth him. "Misty is a strong person. I know she'll get through this. She is smart too. She will win whatever trial she is facing." She sighed heavily, looking like she had aged in that one moment. "I feel so much regret and guilt. Misty if you're watching please know that we love you so much. The arguments, the silence, honey we are so sorry. We love you and we want you to come home. We need you. Don't give up the fight, wherever you are, stay sharp and come home to us. We believe in you." The tears started pouring down her cheeks. My mother moved to cover her face with her hands. From behind them came the strangled sobs. I feel my gut wrench and almost dry heave. I have never seen my mother cry. I've never seen my parents in this state before. The camera zoomed out as my father wrapped his arm around my mother, pulling her close.

"I am begging whoever has her to bring my daughter back to us immediately. As a father I beg. I beg you, please, that's my baby you are looking at. Please, please don't hurt her, let her go. I will give you whatever you want just let her go." I get up off the couch and walk right up to the TV, bending down in front of it and touching the image of my father and mother. His face swiftly shifts to a hardened expression, his voice matching it. "And know this, if you hurt one hair on her head, I will come after you myself. With everything I got. I will turn your life to hell."

The reporter leaned closer, seizing up the opportunity to capitalize on my father's anger. "Do you think this has anything to do with the family company _Tri_?"

My father nodded as my mother wiped her tears beside him. The tears were gone from his face now. "It's very likely. It's no secret that our daughter's mean the world to us. Someone could have been watching us, waiting for the perfect time where one of them was vulnerable. My Misty was home alone, with no one there to protect her." His fists clench in fury. Surely my father wasn't blaming himself, was he? He then looked at the camera, his eyes meeting mine through the screen, almost as though he could see me, and addressed me. "Misty I know we are separated physically, but my heart –" his words broke as he struggled to convey his thoughts, "—my heart never separated from you. No matter how angry we got, or how often we couldn't see eye to eye, no matter where we go my heart is with you princess. Please be strong. We will get you home soon."

It was no secret that I was daddy's girl. I trembled and sobbed as he spoke, the tears stinging my face as they flowed freely. I sat there witnessing my parents love for me after a year without speaking, sat and watched their pain from my disappearance. I had never felt more resolve then now to get out of here. How could I be sitting here questioning my feelings about a boy when I was in danger, when my family was suffering? I needed to get out of this house and away before Ash woke up and Charles returned. It was time to act.

I paused as Ash snorted and shifted on the couch, waiting until his breathing continued at a regular rhythm. Slowly I stood up and began to creep around the living room, doing my best to be stealthy. The slightest noise could give me away. How was I going to get out of front door without him hearing? I couldn't risk Ash coming after me. He could kill me. That was the fact. Best case scenario he would stop me. There's no turning back. I have to get home.

I hold my breath and listen, confirming again that Ash was still fast asleep, his exhaling every few seconds making it obvious I had not woken him yet with my movements. I tiptoe around the place, testing each footstep. The floorboards squeaked painfully loud, making me wince. I pause as the reality of this situation fully hits me. I'm not going to be able to sneak out of this house unnoticed. I need to ensure that Ash cannot come after me.

On the small, rough wooden spool was exactly what I was looking for. They used old cable spools for their tables, the surfaces stained with unidentifiable messes. A solid metal ratchet lay on top of the one in front of the couch, random car parts scattered around it. It was heavy. Perfect. Gingerly I reach out and grab the tool, picking it up and smacking the end of it into my palm. If I can hit Ash hard enough I could knock him unconscious.

If I could hit Ash hard enough.

And if I didn't, then what? He might wake up. Might chase me down. Might murder me in a fit of rage.

I could feel my heart trying to leap out of my chest painfully. I fought to keep my panting breaths quiet. I remember my biology classes when we discussed the fight or flight response. I could feel mine kicking in, taking over me. I inhale a deep, calming breath before inching my way closer to the couch. Closer to Ash.

What if I can't hit him hard enough and he wakes, wrestles the ratchet out of my hands and hits me with it? I know Ash could not only knock me unconscious with this he could kill me. I listen, afraid that perhaps he was already awake, watching what I was doing and sitting there furious.

I hear nothing but the sound of his deep, even breathing.

I draw in one last deep, ragged breath as I replay the words of my parents in my mind to give me strength, to drown out the part of me that is breaking over the thought of doing this. I grip the ratchet tight in my hand as I bring it up over my head. Then, like a man splitting a log with an axe, I swing the ratchet down in a swift and violent descent.


End file.
